


Zootopia: One Shots, One-offs, and Stories

by twocentnuisance



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Assassination, Cannibalism, Cunnilingus, Fluffy buns, Getting Laid, Getting high, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal X Zootopia pretty much, Jack Savage - Freeform, Licking/Grooming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Parallels between other works, Predator/Prey, Pregnancy, Quickie, Rimming, Scents & Smells, Scratching an itch, Short Stories, Skye (zootopia) - Freeform, Starting A Family, Try Everything Try Carnivory, Valentine's Day Fluff, attempted knotting, carnivory, eating meat, sex and fluffy buns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 105,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twocentnuisance/pseuds/twocentnuisance
Summary: As the title suggests; short stories, one offs, and all other things like that.
Chapter 1 is a dedicated table of contents with a brief description of each story/chapter, as well as what chapters directly relate to each other.





	1. Table of Contents/Chapter Directory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you are looking for something specific.

Chapter 2: Judy tries sushi. Darkly intimate, erotic.

  
Chapter 3: Judy scratches a very nude Nick like a Labrador. Erotic, but no outright smut

  
Chapter 4: Follow up to 3, Nick gives her a ‘tongue bath’. Outright Smut

  
Chapter 5: Comedy about Nick eating the pet bird. Hilarity ensues

  
Chapter 6: Canonical short stories focusing on crime with characters from the Omnibus. No Nick and Judy here.

  
Chapter 7: A darker still follow up to chapter 2, wherein their tastes are beginning to evolve.

  
Chapter 8: Honest smut b/w Nick and Judy with lovely artwork at the end

  
Chapter 9: A Finnick centric comedy story in which he tries to be the go between for Nick and Judy

  
Chapter 10: Nick and Judy continue from chapter 7. Their appetites are becoming monstrous.

  
Chapter 11: Continuing from chapter 10. The pair have become something truly dangerous.

  
Chapter 12: How to conceive children, even when your genes don't properly mix and match. Includes those ever prevalent concept characters from the movie’s original storyboard, Jack and Skye. Part 1

  
Chapter 13: Judy, Nick, Jack, and Skye decide and act out the how/when/where from chap 12. Part 2

 

Chapter 14: The conclusion/Part 3 to Two and Two Becoming More.

 

Chapter 15: Two very short stories back-to-back. A fluffy Valentine's Day short between Nick and Judy, and a glimpse into an investigation of theirs, where Nick puts a latent fox talent to use. 

 

Chapter 16: Gender Bender/Rule 63. A different first meeting between a bunny cop and a fox con artist. 

Chapter 17: Nick is faced with a hauntingly familiar scenario, and is presented a choice with serious consequences. 


	2. Try Everything; Try Carnivory (Piscivore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this hauntingly captivating piece by Rubendevela
> 
> http://rubendevela.deviantart.com/art/Try-Everything-Try-Carnivory-637500664
> 
> Seriously, check it out to get the feel for this story.
> 
> I tried to emulate the rather dark and foreboding atmosphere this picture so easily conveyed into this piece, so this is not a typical romance, lovely-dovey story. I tried to go a little deeper, a little more desperate, a little more disturbed. I hope that at least some sinister undertones made it through.

_What is this? Why am I like this? Just . . . what on Earth is happening to me?_

 

Judy Hopps has begun consciously pondering this facet of herself over the past few months. There had been a change in her as a whole. Something she was not necessarily willing to go around telling everyone. A change that society would not want to know about. A slow and gradual change that she had begun noticing due to a noteworthy addition to her life. A paradigm shift who’s catalyst was a red fox, one Nicholas Piberius Wilde. A bad influence, society had told her, some parts more subtly than others.

 

Society, as she was slowly figuring, was dead wrong about Nick being a bad influence . . .

 

Perhaps not bad, per se, but there was something to consider in their nature of their interactions, in their growing relationship. A fox, a predatory mammal, had . . . unique influences on a rabbit, a prey mammal.

 

Something had happened. Something had changed. A fox changed a rabbit, and it came to a head in a dark restaurant where the pair sat close, listening only to each other breathing, fulfilling their city’s unofficially adopted motto;

 

Try everything.

 

~

 

Saturday night, sitting on her couch, deciding on what to do, and Judy had put the ball back in Nick’s court. “I don’t care,” she said, checking her phone, “All I know is that this bunny wants food. Something new would be preferable, but I’ll let you pick it and we’ll go check it out.”

 

She caught herself waiting on the witty reply that always came, but this time, didn’t. The fox was looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought. She waited to see what the eventual retort would be, because it wouldn’t be Nick Wilde if there wasn’t one.

 

A smile, handsome, lupine, and sharp, spread across his lips. He eyed her without moving his head.

 

“My pick, huh?” He waited for her to protest. When Nick smiled like that, or talked like that, or looked like he was about to quickly close the distance between them like that, Judy tried to never cut the moment short. It was hypnotizing in the most alluring way. The kind of way she loved getting sucked into. Dangerous, society warned. She nodded, not smiling, face set in anticipation of his answer.

 

He stood up, making for her closet. She was up and behind him immediately, studiously checking to see what he was looking at. Her partner was tactful, but she didn’t think he’d be the type to invade and breach her privacy and start looking through her underwear. The fox stopped in front of a clothes rack, examining the few dresses she did own.

 

Nick selected a black dress, one with a V-cut neck that revealed a healthy amount of the top and middle of her chest. Busty, her mother would call it. Unflattering, Judy would call it, considering her small bust was nothing to be demonstrative of. “This will do,” Nick said, more to himself than to her, tossing it to Judy before starting for her door.

 

Quickly changing between staring at the dress in her paws and the fox already partially out her door, Judy managed, “Wait, Nick, where are you going?”

 

“Have to stop and find a sports jacket for the place we’re going for dinner. I’ll text you the address and we’ll meet there. It’s not too far from here.”

 

 _Oh, a little on the fancy side_. The thought of dressing up had never been an active and forefront part of the Judy Hopps Mindset TM. She was perfectly happy in her uniform and felt that dressing up was something others females could do. Let them have their skirts, heels, and makeup. Give me my badge and my uniform

 

_And my fox_

 

and I’m a happy bunny. And for the first time in her life, Judy had butterflies in the stomach, giddy and excited at the thought of getting dressed up for a certain fox.

 

“So, what’s this place all about?” she asked as he made to turn down her hallway, letting gravity and the off-kilter hinges shut the door behind him.

 

She caught that toothed grin, coupled with those hooded emerald eyes, the combination that made her mind foggy, her legs weak, and her sex ache.

 

“Trying new things,” he whispered to her as the door clicked shut.

 

~

 

Judy walked up to the big neon demon of a building, feeling the wind rush past her ears and heart hammering away in her head. The moon, pale and fat, hung in the cloudless sky. The air was chilled, and she was regretting not bringing a jacket. The night air felt especially invasive and perverse as it ran its breeze through the open V of her dress, directly against her bare cleavage and up her legs. More than once she tried smoothing down the knee length skirt that seemed intent on riding up to her underwear.

 

The restaurant in question, UMI, was bathed in harsh neon blue light that originated in hidden crevasses alongside the exterior. There were windows, black ovals that didn’t show what could be possibly happening inside.

 

Standing against the wall, by the door, was a figure in black, orange fur poking out from the collar, sleeves, and pant ends. He looked up from the ground, those fierce green eyes managing to lock onto her from across the deserted parking lot.

 

They held fast on her, not moving from the rabbit, even when the pair were no more than a few feet apart.

 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he said, eyes running up and down and back up and back down her body, a devilish smile on his face. Judy couldn’t help the blush, couldn’t help but let the feeling of being beautiful and appreciated and gorgeous run through her chest. It was both novel and welcomed.

 

“And you look quite handsome yourself, Mr. Wilde,” she replied. And she _meant_ it. He was wearing a double-black suit and button down shirt. To match his fur, a bloody orange tie lapped from his collar down into his buttoned jacket.

 

Before she even realized it, before either really realized it, Judy had placed a single paw against his chest, center mass, feeling the tie and the body heat of the mammal beneath it.

 

They stared at each other, Judy’s mouth hanging open, trying (and failing) to come up with a plausible excuse for the clearly intimate and likely inappropriate touch. She didn’t dare look up his face, her own feeling like it was about to combust under her fur.

 

Something smoothed over her paw. Judy looked up and saw an orange paw caressing her fingers, claws retracted, textured and sensitive paw pads feeling her hand. Above the hand, a smiling fox. Without words or inclination, he took her paw from his chest, kept it in his paw, and led them both inside.

 

It was empty. Entirely devoid of any other patrons. And the smell . . . something familiar but factually unfamiliar. She couldn’t place what it was. Nick walked her to a bar counter bathed a blue and white lighting. Black and neon blues, it seemed, were the only predominant colors at work in the interior as well. Even the napkins, folded as origami on the tables, were jet black.

 

They sat down without waiting for a server. Nick, ever the gentlemen (that he could be when he wanted to), got her chair for her. As soon as they were seated, a small, raccoon-y looking mammal appeared from the back, as if on cue. Judy withheld judgement on species because she had never seen a brown furred raccoon before, amongst other differences that led her identification of the mammal away from raccoon.

 

Nick leaned over to Judy. “Our chef for tonight, a Tanuki.”

 

Judy hadn’t heard of that type of mammal. The chef, who was now facing them across the level bar top, was busy setting up a display of cooking utensils and containers. The mammal also set up a small grille, charcoal operated and lit. The heat was palpable in the cool atmosphere of the restaurant. “Does the chef have a name?” Judy asked when the chef did not as so much acknowledge their presence, busily continuing setting up for dinner.

 

Nick shrugged. “Won’t tell me his name and no one seems to know it. So, ‘chef’ or ‘Tanuki’ seems to be the accepted designation for the mammal taking care of us tonight.”

 

Judy’s focus drifted back to the smell she couldn’t quite place. Her brain was registering the scent as something that she, well, shouldn’t be scared of, necessarily. Not like the first reaction to smelling a predatory musk. But the smell was kicking awake her hindbrain, the portion containing all of the evolutionary groundwork. Something urgent, with red lights and a growing, distant siren’s screaming, was trying to get the rest of her brain’s attention.

 

_Be wary_

 

But her befuddlement and inherent curiosity kept the small panic at bay.

 

The Tanuki set two white plates in front of them. Reaching underneath the counter, Judy heard the telling crunch of ice shifting. He set something in front of them, a dark cherry-red mass that finally ID’d the smell Judy couldn’t quite place.

 

Fish. Tuna. Sushi.

 

_Death what you were smelling is dead fish_

 

She spun and looked at Nick, eyes wide, her heart rate steadily climbing. The fox seemed to appraise her reaction for a moment.

 

“Just say the word, and we’ll go,” he told her through a smile. There was no malice in his voice, or hint of mockery. Judy looked back to the cut of meat in front of them. Her mind was buzzing. An internal battle raged in her mind, between inherent safety failsafes and her legendary stubbornness to not be a quitter, to never judge until you’ve walked in another mammal’s shoes, to not show them that they get to you.

 

The last part caught her a little. Looked like the fox’s mantra was rubbing off on her. Just a little.

 

“Well, while you decide,” Nick said, turning to the Chef, “I’m going to have something. Before the Sashimi, may I have the sannakji?” The Tanuki nodded once, and began rummaging around under the counter, pushing the red mass down the counter for later.

 

He produced a small white plate, displaying a small octopus placed in a shallow puddle of . . . a marinade of some concoction. Light alcohol and sesame oil?

 

It was splayed out, each of its eight limbs stretching across the plate, its head positioned squarely center. In a simplistic design, Judy thought, it looked very presentable, one of those dishes that was pictured in cookbooks for predators.

 

The water on the plate rippled, one of the tentacles moving beneath the surface. Judy felt her face go numb, didn’t hear the small squeak she emitted. The tentacles on the octopus moved. The whole octopus moved. The whole animal moved around, slowly, on the plate.

 

It was still alive.

 

Nick rubbed his paws together, then pulled the plate closer to him, getting out a pair of chopsticks. “He, uh . . . uhm, the chef still has to cook it, right?” Judy managed to breath out, failing to keep the panic out of her voice, staring at the wiggling creature in the shallow dish.

 

“Nope,” nick said, picking up the small animal by its bulbous head. Nick held the octopus in front of his face, as the small creature’s arms began wrapping around the chopsticks and reaching into the air for any additional purchase.

 

Judy’s hindbrain was now an active airfield of warning sirens, waves of adrenaline starting to rush through her system. She watched as the small animal was placed into Nick’s open maw, into a large mouth full of sharp incisors.

 

It’s like a car accident, Judy thought. It’s so awful, but you just can’t look away.

 

And Judy watched, unblinking, as the machinations of evolution, the basic concept of life driven forwards, unfolded only a foot away from her. She watched his teeth, glistening with strands of saliva, sliced down and parted the limbs of the octopus away from its body. Watched as one eyetooth came down and pierced the globular head of the octopus, watched fluid pour out from behind the little eyes.

 

Nick attempted to keep his mouth closed and chew modestly

 

_Don’t . . . I want to see_

But the struggling creature made it difficult, with Nick resulting in widening his maw to un-stick some of the octopus’ tentacles from his lips.

 

With a hard _SNAP!_ Nick’s jaws came down across the remains of the octopus, pulping and further dicing the remains. The next few bites were more, dare she describe them as, wild and feral. Quick, harsh, efficient bites that finished off any hope that the octopus was still alive. Judy watched the lump of butchered animal passed down his throat as he swallowed.

 

Nick turned and looked at her, smacking his lips. “So, Carrots. Ready to try something new?”

 

Judy felt herself nod from a distance, like remembering the sensation of nodding up and down, not aware of it actually occurring.

 

“What did it taste like?” she whispered in morbid fascination.

 

“Ever have lobster?” Judy gave him a serious, almost pleading, look.

 

“Right,” Nick quickly corrected. “It tastes smooth, subdued, clean. Octopus has a very clear and transparent feel to the muscle. Not rich, so to say, but smooth on the palate. Good.”

 

“And . . . and y-you always eat it . . . alive?” she asked, her mind swimming that predators ate still living things. That Nick still ate living, breathing animals alive.

 

_This is wrong this is dangerous this is absurd_

 

The easy smile faded from Nick’s face. The look he was giving her was . . . perhaps unfriendly, perhaps scrutinizing, perhaps curious, perhaps judging.

 

“Why?” she braved.

 

The smile returned, teeth seemingly looking sharper than when they were at her apartment. “I _am_ a predator, Judy. This is my _design_ ,” he told her, his quiet voice bordering on taunting.

 

In front of them, the Tanuki pulled back the large slab of red and began preparing it.

 

“That,” Nick started explaining, gracefully moving onto the next topic, “is se-naka, best part of the red meat of the tuna.” Judy felt a wave of cold grip her chest staring at the cut. A small river of red blood began running around the cut and pooled off to the side. “You won’t find much of any fat on that cut.”

 

_Fat keeps you warm in the winter you get rid of it by working out or by surgery you are not supposed to choose what part of an animal you are going to eat not pick the meat that doesn’t have fat on it_

 

They both watched in a revered silence as the chef began preparing their food. In the near total quiet of the restaurant, Judy listened to the knife elegantly part the muscle and sinew of the flesh, inhaled the gripping and powerful stench of blood and body. The sharp and attentive smell of the vinegar rice. The subdued spice of the wasabi. And real wasabi, at that. Judy couldn’t detect any horseradish in the mixture from scent alone.

 

“Normally, Tanuki here prepares all his food via Ikizukuri, which translates to ‘prepared alive’, but I thought that would be a little over the top letting you watch our chef battle and slaughter the tuna right here.”

 

_I just watched you kill . . . kill and eat a living animal_

 

_And I didn’t do anything to stop it_

 

The Tanuki took four pieces of ruby red muscle and laid them against the grille. The unique sizzling was an entirely new sound to Judy. It sounded completely different than how fruits and vegetables simmered over fire.

 

While the meat cooked, the Tanuki quickly began paw-pressing small boats of rice, fingers pressing and repressing every bit of surface area into four pieces. He took his thumb and depressed and smeared a small dollop of wasabi on the tops of the rice forms. After twelve seconds, the chef took all four pieces of meat, seared one side only, off the grille, and applied them to the rice beds over the wasabi spreads. Next, salmon roe, to contrast to the tuna meat, applied over the flesh. Lastly, a brush that painted the tops of each piece once over in sesame oil.

 

The Tanuki placed the four pieces on the plate, and pushed them towards Nick and Judy. He did not move away, just folded his paws behind his back and watched them, face blank.

 

Nick looked to Judy. She stared back, eyes wide, breathing a little quicker than normal. Nick could smell the adrenaline seeping off her, a combination of stress and excitement.

 

To say it did nothing to him would have been a boldfaced lie.

 

“Want me to go first?” he offered. She quickly nodded her head, eyes refusing to leave his face.

 

Again, she watched it all unfold in front of her, this time leaning in a little more than last time to better examine the feeding.

 

Judy watched as his teeth parted the flesh with the surgical precision of the chef’s knife. Watched as his eyes rolled back in his head when the rice and meat touched his tongue. Heard the growl of enjoyment that was so light it was more akin to a purr. Heard the teeth repeatedly cutting into flesh. Heard and watched him swallow and lick his lips.

 

Nick looked at his date, whom had been remarkably quiet for this evening. Judy saw the remaining three pieces of sashimi, placed between them.

 

_It’s a joke he’s pulling your leg_

 

“Would you like to try, Fluff?”

 

_Say no Jesus God above please say no it’s unnatural it’s an aberration think of what your parents would say if you said_

 

“Yes,” she muttered. “Yes, I would.” Judy took her chopsticks and picked up – well, attempted to pick up the sashimi. But she had never once held chopsticks (a good reason behind that), and combined with the elevated stress/excitement that was running through her veins, Judy couldn’t manage to work the process to her advantage.

 

By the sixth attempt, the piece she had settled on was now three pieces of rice/wasabi and a still singular piece of tuna, and Judy felt her face heating beyond a comfortable margin.

 

“How bout I help you with that?” he fox whispered, already picking up his own chopsticks.

 

Par for the course of the Judy Hopps MindsetTM, she naturally tried to refuse. “Nope, no, no, I can get it. I can do it –“

 

Her sense of hearing picked up the sound of his claws popping out from his fingertips before she consciously registered those sharp talons running under her jaw. The breath, and the ability to breathe, left her. She didn’t feel the chopsticks leave her paw, didn’t hear them clatter against the counter top.

 

In one paw, a rabbit. In the other, tuna sashimi.

 

“Say ‘Ah,’ Judith,” he purred to her. Judy tried to say something – anything – back, but the feeling of sharp claws parting the fur under her chin muted her. She could only open her mouth in response.

 

His claws left her chin, and Nick brought the tuna up to her open mouth.

 

_No. No you cannot you should not this is unnatural this is so wrong you have never eaten meat rabbits are not supposed to eat meat_

 

The rice touched her tongue first, the bright and bitter flavor of vinegar began seeping through her mouth.

 

_Stop stop right now you can stop take it out of your mouth spit it out grab him and push him away_

 

Judy opened her mouth wider to let the tuna and salmon roe clear her teeth. She bit down,

 

_Spit it out Run out of here_

 

and began chewing.

 

_That’s another animal’s flesh you are chewing you are going against everything society expects from you, you are going against everything nature designed you to be_

 

Felt the sensation of her buck teeth easily pairing the tuna meat apart.

 

_Enough is enough you are . . . you cannot do this you should not WANT to be doing this_

 

The flavor profile that was building across her tongue and palate and slowly translating into her mind . . .

 

_STOP RIGHT NOW YOU CANNOT SWALLOW IT THAT IS SO DAMN WRONG THAT IS NOT VEGETABLES THAT IS NOT FRUITS THAT IS NOT NUTS OR BERRIES JUDY LAVERNE HOPPS_

_THAT IS CARNIVORY THAT IS_

 

“Delicious,” Judy breathed out after swallowing the sashimi. “That is . . . really delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like this, Nick.” The calamity from her hindbrain was silent, perhaps dead.

 

In her first taste, and the bliss of how delicious the vinegar rice paired with the tuna meat, Judy didn’t realize that a little bit of her consumption had spilled its way onto her chin and the corner of her lips.

 

Judy was brought back to the present by the movement of a fox, leaning in towards her. His pupils widened to let as much light in as possible, and Judy stared back at herself in those dark pools as Nick drew near.

 

Out of an automatic response, Judy leaned back at the sudden advance. A sudden, low growl escaped his lips, freezing her in place.

 

_Don’t move a predator, a fox, just growled at you do not move_

 

His lips parted, pink tongue snaking out towards her, touching the side of her cheek. Slowly, very slowly, Nick dragged his tongue across her check to the corner of her mouth, catching the rogue salmon roe and juice from the rice and tuna. Keeping as slow a pace as he could, his tongue continued across her lips, which parted and a small rabbit’s tongue briefly tasted a fox’s, as it smoothed across her mouth. His tongue stopped when it reached her other cheek, having lapped up in one motion any bit of food spilled.

 

Nick held his head still as his tongue retracted back into his head, nostrils flaring, eyeing the rabbit.

 

Judy part shuddered, part whimpered, letting out a rattled and choked breath, incapable of breaking eye contact with the fox. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape up and out of her throat. She felt like she just finished running her new record for the mile sprint. Nick leaned back into his chair.

 

“You are right, Judy,” he muttered, voice husky and rough. “That is delicious. I’ve never tasted anything like that, either.”

 

His lips peeled back ever so slightly, half way between a smile and a predatory growl. Between satiated and unsatisfied. Something beyond what she had ever seen before.

 

Judy’s mind was still buzzing, but the train of thought simmered down from the panicked screaming into a dull white noise.

 

_What is this? Why am I like this? Just . . . what on Earth is happening to me?_

She instantly thought of what Nick had told her.

 

_I am a predator. This is my design._

And she was thrilled, shocked, excited, terrified, enchanted, horrified, delighted by his design. And how she played into his design, and how he played into hers. She wanted to learn more, experience more with him.

 

To be vulnerable for him. To live up to and beyond their respective designs.

 

Judy took hold of Nick’s paw, returned his smile with her own, outwardly nervous and inwardly thrilled. In one motion, like it wasn’t her first time, she deftly picked up a piece of sashimi, holding it in front of Nick’s muzzle.

 

“Say ‘Ah’, Nicholas,” she cooed. Her fox smiled back, pupils narrowing, maw opening to accept her gift. With her free paw, she found his. With an audible _click_ , she heard then felt his claws come out and start tracing circles in her fur.

 

_All of this . . . is my design._


	3. You Scratch My Back . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant, warm, fuzzy, and comfy short about Nick needing a good scratching, specifically from a certain rabbit who's happy to provide. 
> 
> The idea fermented from two separate artists' ideas of scratching itself. 
> 
> http://rarewhoroastbeast.deviantart.com/art/Scruffy-Boy-637949352
> 
> http://zootermission.tumblr.com/post/145710463070/nick-being-pet-so-well-his-brain-is-melting-and
> 
> Go show em both some love for they are awesome.

Judy noticed it near the end of their shift. Nick wiggled in the passenger seat of the cruiser, trying to act subtle, trying to act like everything was fine and that he was not, in fact, writhing around in his seat in clear discomfort.

 

And when addressed about why it looked like he was trying to shake off an army of ants, Nick immediately stopped moving, and through clenched teeth and a vapid smile, said something to the effect of, “Doing great. Just fine.”

 

They’d resume patrol, making small talk, Judy clearly seeing that there was something bothering Nick and Nick pretending there wasn’t. Every time she’d glance over . . . there was a wriggling fox in the seat, lips repeatedly pealing back over his teeth in frustration at something only he was aware of.

 

She cornered him in her apartment after their shift, guising him with promises of pizza and lounging and Netflix. To make sure he had no chance of escaping her questioning, she got up from the couch, leaving a watchful fox on it, and threw the deadbolt on her door.

 

“If you were anyone else, I’d be exceptionally concerned right now,” he quipped.

 

“Like how I am for you,” Judy responded, sitting back next him, making sure he was aware of her prolonged and intent stare. He stared back, stubborn fox that he was. They sat in silence, eyeing each other for a few moments. Judy began counting in her head.

 

_And in . . . four . . . three . . . two . . ._

 

Nick wiggled just a little, pushing his back against her couch, lips peeling to briefly show his teeth, shoulders rolling. _Bingo._

 

“What are you doing?” she asked him. He stopped wiggling in his spot; eyeing her like a kit caught stealing from a cookie jar. As if somehow, by pure statistical chance or otherwise, she’d glossed over this action while staring at him.

 

He regained his composure, put on his salesmen mask, infuriating smirk and know-it-all gaze, and opened his mouth to speak, but Judy cut him off.

 

“Just _try_ and hustle your way out of this one, Slick. I _dare_ you.” His face dropped at seeing hers, and she could see him searching for a way out. After a few moments, his face went slack, and Nick relented.

 

“Okay, so there’s an itch I can’t reach and it has been driving me up the wall all day.”

 

He paused – no – stopped. That was it. He stared at her, as if conveying ‘your turn to say something.’

 

Judy’s mouth hung open and waited for him to continue, to tell her more about this hellspawned itch, for him to describe it to be the bane of his existence, a familial curse passed down by generations, justification for why he had kept it such a secret for such an unreasonably long amount of time. But that was it, the total of Nick’s woe and the end of his telling of said woe.

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Mhmm, yeah, yeah. That’s it.” He continued wriggling against the couch before grimacing through clenched teeth, “Damnit all, I cannot for the LIFE of me get this itch!”

 

Nick whipped off his shirt and undershirt, desperately reaching around to find the source of his discomfort, paws flying to and around his back at any possible angle.

 

“You want me to get it?” Judy sighed, feeling a little let down by how anticlimactic the reveal was, and started towards him.

 

She jumped when he jumped. Both landed on opposite ends of the couch, each staring at each other in surprise; Judy in confusion, Nick in discomfort. Again, the fox let the rabbit go first.

 

“Or not . . . Have I offended you?” Judy asked with only half the required sarcasm.

 

“Nooo,” Nick drawled out, eyes looking back and forth, thoughts calculating. “And before you ask, yes. Yes, I do want you to take care of this damn itch. But, we seriously need to go over some, uh, parameters if you’re going to scratch me.”

 

Her eyebrows went up. “Parameters.” She paused, processing the word. “Okay, what parameters?”

 

Nick eyed the floor, then her, then the ceiling, then her again. It would seem, Judy thought, a small grin forming on her face, that Nick Wilde is officially at a loss for words.

 

“Well, when someone else scratches me, or I guess any other predator, really, uh, if the scratching is really good, we preds start acting a little . . .” he trailed off, desperately looking for the right word before continuing. “Like, I dunno, more . . . _basic_. Animalistic, if you will,” he motioned with his paws in some gesture Judy wasn’t understanding.

 

Judy slowly and lightly shook her head, face pinched in confusion. “Wait, so what you’re saying is that you become . . . what? Like, kinda feral over a good scratching?”

 

“Yeah, but not dangerous, you know? Just kinda . . . it’s kind of like the brain starts to melt a little under the relief, and we preds start to exhibit . . . mild, subliminally repressed behaviors.”

 

All while trying to explain what may or may not happen if she scratched him, Nick continued to writhe around in his spot, still failing to catch the itch.

 

“O-kay,” Judy started, “so you act a little . . . _funny_ , when you’re scratched. Sure. I, uh, promise I won’t make fun of you for it in public. In private, I likely will. But Nick, I think you’re honestly making too big a deal –“

 

“Can we issue a safe word?” he asked her, face completely serious.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Fluff, this is an urgent and delicate matter and I would not jest lightly about this undertaking for which you have so graciously volunteered. So yes, a safe word either of us can mutter where we both stop what ever is happening.”

 

“Good God Nick, you’re making it sound like we’re about to . . .” Judy trailed off and looked elsewhere to disguise the pink that was starting to pronounce in her cheeks and ears.

 

“Got any ideas for one, something easy to remember? Something that jumps to mind?” he asked, unaware and therefore uncaring about whatever it was she was talking about.

 

Something did jump to mind. “Paperwork,” she said. “You’re least favorite task on the force.” To cement the truth of it, Nick groaned in pseudo agony and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that will work,” he agreed, moving over to her on all fours.

 

A tiny gasp escaped Judy as she felt something exceptionally soft and warm press onto her thighs. Nick lay facing down, his bare chest resting on Judy’s lap, the rest of his body stretched out along her couch. With his free arm, he motioned towards his back impatiently.

 

“Somewhere in the center of my back, around the spine.” Judy batted his paw away, and with one paw, began scratching around his spine.

 

The effect was near instantaneous.

 

“OHHhhhh yeah . . . yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah riiiiiiight therrrre ohhhh . . . my . . . godddd,” Nick trailed off, a smile of immense relief resting on his face. The fox arched his back into her paw, focusing her efforts on one particular spot.

 

He knew, right there, that this was a smart choice, as far as choices for scratching went. Predators, no surprise, had very sharp claws. This could make intense scratching sessions hazardous if one was not judiciously careful. Having a partner do it even more so. Too little pressure and the sharpness of the claws would just agitate the spot more. Too much pressure and there would likely be blood and cries of pain and regret and sadness.

 

Judy’s short claws, not dull but not sharp either, were the nigh perfect medium, and Nick was relishing in their attention.

 

Also, it had been ages since he had a real good scratching.

 

Not how I thought I’d be spending my evening, Judy thought past her astonishment at how well Nick was receiving the attention. Also of interest, the heat and feeling of his weight against her. Not uncomfortable in the slightest. Quite comfortable.

 

Along with some other feeling that was relatively new.

 

Judy understood her societal position in regards to species. Herbivore. Check. Small yet fast. True. Generally weaker in physical dexterity and strength. Unfortunately true. Not at all intimidating without the law, a badge, or a gun. Painfully true. All norms she embodied by default every day.

 

This societal position she was currently in felt decidedly different, decidedly against the normal and expected positions she normally upheld.

 

Right here in this moment, she felt – dare she actually admit it – kinda powerful. Nah, scratch kinda. Just powerful was more accurate. She, a small female rabbit, had someone fully under her control.

 

A ‘someone’ that was, by all rights more cunning, stronger, and deadlier all around, writhing in her lap and under her paw, flexing his body and making sounds of genuine comfort and contentment.

 

Judy would be a liar – not that she’d ever intentionally lie to hurt someone oh god no she was raised in a respectable home – if she said that having Nick, a fox, under her paw wasn’t a thrill, wasn’t the reason her heart rate was ever so slowly climbing, or why she was breathing just a pinch faster than normal.

 

She’d be a liar to say that this did nothing for her, that it wasn’t thrilling in its own way to provide such joy and pleasure for him.

 

That thought stopped her. The blush returned. The way they were headed, the ‘just best friends’ sign that had, for so long, signaled the status of their relationship was slowly disappearing in the rearview mirror.

 

She ran her small paws up and down his back, pressing her nails past his thick fur and down to his skin. If she brought both paws down or up, Nick would arch his back to follow her nails, a wave of orange fur that rose to keep pace with her movements.

 

All the while, Nick cooed and ahhh’ed at the attention that he was so desperately craving. His tail was wagging, eyes were shut, panting instead of breathing, teeth on display and tongue hanging out, and Judy’s apartment was starting to smell a little strongly of fox musk, of excitement and violets.

 

That was . . . certainly a plus.

 

After a little, Nick sprung up from her lap, dancing between his two feet, staring at Judy with startling intensity.

 

“So, ahhhm, uhm, Carrots, how about, I mean, considering that we’re best friends and it would kinda be a dick move to leave me high and dry, you know, would you want to, oh I don’t know, continue-scratching-me-top-to-bottom?” He said this all in a hurried tone, as though not wanting to waste any time on unimportant things like formalities.

 

“I mean, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything so please just say the word if that’s going too far. But, you know, if you’re down for it, I am so down for it,” he added with a hopeful grin.

 

To say ‘no’ to his request would’ve been saying ‘no’ to what two mammals very much wanted.

 

Judy smiled, still sitting on the couch while Nick hopped around said couch in excitement, and patted her lap. The fox leaped over the couch – again, Judy squeaked in surprise – and quickly shucked off his pants and underwear –

 

“Nick!”

 

The fox didn’t seem to mind the new rule of ‘to be scratched is to be nude.’

 

“Oh c’mon Carrots. First day we met we went to the naturalist’s club and everyone there was stark naked. And, you know, feels great to get back to the basics. I want the full experience here.”

 

“But – but I didn’t personally know any of them!” Judy protested, hands flying to her face to cover the blush that was determined to turn her grey fur rose red. Nick, still riding a blissful high, crawled naked across the couch, brushing his whole head against Judy’s neck and torso. From there, naked as the day he was born, he began intimately circling her, wrapping his body around her like a scarf.

 

“C’mon, carrots,” he purred, rubbing his head against the top of her chest and under her chin, body coiling and uncoiling around her, intent with making as much surface contact as possible, “It’s rude to keep a fox waiting.”

 

“O-okay,” Judy squeaked, feeling the immense heat and strong scent of fox musk flush her senses. Underneath her jaw, against her neck, she heard the fox breathe out in approval. Nick then stretched out both front and back paws out along the couch.

 

Still blushing, Judy resumed her scratching, now focusing her attention at his shoulders. Wherever she focused her massage, Nick’s body would rise to meet her ministrations, followed by a sharp intake of breath and a forced, shuttering exhalation.

 

She ran both paws down the length of his back, towards the wagging chimneysweeper’s brush of a tail. An object of her fascination (as was the rest of her partner’s body), Nick’s tail was one defining physical attribute Judy had long wanted to closely examine because of how vastly different her own was. A tiny, cotton swab of an end she had control over, but held no real functional purpose . . .

 

. . . Other than making her butt look good. Something she had mounting evidence of due to her catching the stares from:

 

  1. Male rabbits. (Pass)



 

  1. A certain male fox. (GO).



 

Nick’s tail, on the other hand, was clearly more necessary for the fox’s function. It kept his balance on hind legs or on all fours, and, unbeknownst to him, was a decent mood indicator if he wasn’t forthcoming with how he felt. Judging by the _pat-pat-pat-pat_ of it against her sofa cushions, he was doing pretty a-okay.

 

So as her paws scratched and itched their way down his back, Judy found her whole attention on his rear. Surprisingly slim yet toned. Red russet fur and a very intriguing and light cream color that swayed into his inner thighs –

 

Judy didn’t watch where her nails skimmed.

 

She scratched the top of his rear, right at the base of his tail, where it connected to the back of his pelvis. And judging by the speed he snapped up, the guttural growl he admitted, and the bared teeth a few inches away from her head and neck, Nick made it abundantly clear he wasn’t too thrilled at where the scratching had arrived.

 

Judy put her paws up, as if being robbed at gunpoint, trying to breathe as quietly as possible in front of the muzzle full of teeth.

 

“Sorry,” she whispered, “I – uh – I wasn’t aware that was a ‘no-fly zone’ right there.”

 

Examining his face, it looked like Nick caught and reeled in some of the apparent fury of his retaliation halfway to meeting Judy. Right now, no more than a few inches from her, he looked startled and defensive, the surprised anger rapidly deflating.

 

He exhaled, still looking at her. “Sorry, sorry. I should be the one apologizing. I, uh, didn’t mean to come off so strongly there. Just, uhm, sensitive area. That’s all. Wasn’t expecting you to go right for it, wasn’t anticipating that strong a rush. It’s kinda a spot that no one touches because of how sensitive it is. Hence, the uh, safe word.”

 

“So, avoid –“

 

“No!” Nick quickly backtracked. “No no, you can touch there. That’s alright. I promise I won’t get agitated like that again. And despite how it looked, I’d never hurt you. Just uh, you know, like a territorial thing. Unexpected. Told you, not feral, not vicious. Just back to the basics. I know now so it won’t happen again.”

 

There was a pause in the desperate and quick talk.

 

When Judy didn’t resume the task imparted on her, she heard in a pleading voice, “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, please keep scratching me.”

 

Judy snorted a laugh, releasing the tension from her shoulders, and resumed, starting again at his lower back. Within a few moments, Nick relaxed, the calm spreading across his face. She could practically feel the muscles in his body uncoiling in her lap.

 

“Never thought this would happen.” Judy laughed.

 

“What?” Nick asked between sighs, “that’d you’d be scratching the world’s most handsome fox?”

 

_Well, yes that’s part of it._

 

“That you’d be naked on my couch and I’d be scratching the world’s most handsome fox.”

 

“Ahhhhh so you admit it?” he purred to her, a coy smile on his face. Judy scratched with a little more force, one paw tracing a boomerang shape around the base of his tail. Nick’s smile faded and he started whining, actually emitting a high-pitched whine in what Judy correctly figured to be pleasure. Nick raised his rear up to push her fingers deeper through his fur.

 

Judy heard many _pops!_ , her ears each pivoting in the opposite directions. Looking up to his arms, Nick’s fingers twitched without cadence, black claws picking and plucking at the fabric of her couch. Nick, likely unaware, was using the claws on his hind legs for leverage, pushing his body upwards to meet Judy’s paws. He was likely also unaware of how easily his back claws were tearing into the fabric.

 

But it was a cheap couch, refurbished and faded almost to a grey scale, so she couldn’t really be mad at him. Besides, he looked exceptionally cute enjoying a good scratch-down.

 

Nick looked up to her, eyes lidded. “Sooooo ahhhh ohhh that is niceeee how opposed would you be to ahhhh haah haah hhnnghhh scr-atching my front?”

 

Judy gave a nervous smile and tittered, making the motion with her pointer fingers to ‘turn over.’ The predator obliged, rolling onto his back now looking up at the ceiling, eyes shut in bliss.

 

This time, Judy felt her fur actually turn red. “Oh my,” was all she could whisper. Eyes still closed, Nick grinned wickedly, white sharp teeth back on display.

 

It was not her first time seeing another male naked. Her high school boyfriend, case in point. But, Nick looked decidedly and wholly different than a young buck did.

 

And Judy was not that all surprised at how much more exciting seeing a fox naked was than seeing a buck in the nude. But she was still very excited. Heart rate now pitter-pattering away, for example.

 

Her first thought was ‘cream.’ The color of his crotch, sheath and testicles, was a darker egg cream color that ran up his waist, belly, chest, and crested into the bottom of his jaw. It paired beautifully with the russet orange of his coat.

 

“I’m going to go out on a limb ah – ahhh – ahhh –and say you’ve never seen a naked f – f – fox before,” Nick managed as Judy began scratching across his pectorals.

 

“Nope, you’re . . . my first,” Judy cautioned as one arm snaked across his chest and began scratching the tops of his shoulders. Her other paw worked down his arm, his ebony claws trying yet not trying to puncture into her couch.

 

“Well, hearing you say that . . . “ he paused, breathing heavy, as if exercising, “just makes my month. S – so what do ya think?”

 

“Uhmmmm,” Judy’s thoughts trailed off, scratching the tops of his ribs and looking at his genitals, and the tip of crimson shade of his sex protruding out of his sheath. The heat in her face coupled with the increasingly powerful smell of fox musk was doing something similar to her. She was faintly aware of a wet warmth starting between her legs.

 

“I’ll admit, I’m, uhm, curious. Very. Very. Curious,” she allowed, scratching down his belly, slowing the back and forth movements of her paws across him.

 

“You’ve never seen a canid dick in person, have you?” Nick deadpanned. Judy shook her head, half her attention allocated to scratching, half focused on inspecting every part of his sex. Which was completely and utterly fascinating. And something she was determined to, at the very least, burn into her memory.

 

“First time,” she muttered more to herself, nose twitching, inhaling as much as she could, feeling a pleasant light-headedness begin stewing her thoughts around the construct of a certain fox.

 

“When we’re done,” he managed, “if you ahhh – ahhhh that’s gooooooood – ask nicely, I’ll let you take a closer look.”

 

Judy looked at Nick, examined how he breathed through the toothy grin twitching on his muzzle, how the exhalations he was making were a mixture of his famous satirical persona and the obvious pleasure he was deriving from this.

 

_He’s getting a kick out of this. He’s loving that this is making me uncomfortable . . ._

_No. He_ thinks _that this is making me uncomfortable._

_He wants to play? Alright. Let’s push that envelope, Mr. Wilde._

 

“You’ll _just_ let me see?” Judy asked, pushing into his body with both paws and making her scratching faster.

 

“AHHhhhh ahh oh god oohhhhh godddddddd,” Nick stammered out as Judy’s paws began scratching down his inner thighs, within centimeters of his testicles. The fox arched his entire body upwards, inadvertently putting his sex closer to Judy’s face.

 

She had half a mind to bend in a few inches and give his organ a kiss, just to further enliven him, but resisted. Nick wanted to play coy about it? Thought he could just get her bothered? Well, she could play the same game.

 

If sex was part of the ploy, he could wait, just like she.

 

Although Judy did take the opportunity to deeply inhale and was instantly rewarded with the heady scent of his reproductive organ that made her head swim and her stomach flutter and her sex sorely ache for attention. She swallowed, and tasted his scent on the back of her tongue.

 

“Such a tease, Mr. Fox,” she chided him, busily working her attentions over and around his muscular yet lithe thighs.

 

“Ahhhh haaaahhh hnnnggghhh,” was all Nick could manage as she feverishly scratched along the inside of his thighs. While not explicitly sexual in nature, the arousal of his body was translating across all fronts. More of his red member was protruding. Not a full erection, not an automatic response of typical sexual excitement, but arousal at its base is arousal through and through.

 

Judy ran her paws quickly back up his thighs, within a hair’s space of his sex, and ran them up his belly and chest and neck, making sure her nails parted past his fur and onto his skin, his body rising like a wave about to crest with her attentions. Her paws began scratching and working at the base of his neck, alongside the back of his head and at the base of his ears.

 

Nick could only close his eyes and pant, something of a smile plastered on his muzzle with his hanging tongue.

 

Judy was feeling . . . she looked down at his naked form and giggled. She was feelin’ a little ballsy.

 

“Who’s a good boy?” she cooed, biting her lip in trying to suppress the giggling that was bubbling up.

 

Something between a bark and laugh snapped from Nick’s muzzle, eyes still shut. “Y-you get that oneaaaahhhh hhhngh I’ll give you th-that.”

 

“I think someone’s enjoying himself,” she smiled at him.

 

“That’sssssss putting it mildly,” Nick breathed out. “Ohhhh sweet merciful god where ha - have you been alllllll of my life?”

 

That statement . . . Perhaps under other circumstances, may have been awkward. Embarrassing. Too early. Too late. Too much. Too little. But not here.

 

Not with them.

 

Because right here are two perfectly happy mammals that find, and will continue to find, abounding joy and fulfillment in each other’s presence. Including itching and scratching sessions.

 

So when he says it to her, he means it, really means it. She knows he means it, and he knows what she says is meant with the same earnest truth.

 

“Walking all over creation waiting to find the right mammal. And here he is. Naked on my couch, in my shoebox apartment, acting a fool at being scratched head to toe by his rabbit.”

 

It was, word for word, absolute truth. And they were happy to leave it at that. For now, it was back to scratching.

 

~

 

“Okay!! Oh – Oh – okay! I’m done, I’m soooo so so so done,” Nick panted to her, followed by a high-pitched whine and full-body shudder that contradicted his statement. She had gone over almost every patch of Nick, with the exceptions of his genitals, his tail, and his paw pads. Again, he laid face down on her lap, his head closer to her body.

 

“Need to hear that safe word, Nick,” Judy cooed to him, one paw disappearing under his chin, scratching the skin of his neck, directly under his jawline. “Otherwise you could just be play acting, and I don’t want to get between a fox and his fun.”

 

“Uhmmmm oh god oh god oh god,” nick’s eyelids fluttered, his mind coming up blank. “Blueberries? Has to be blueberries.”

 

“Nick,” Judy said sternly, her other paw snaking down his side, quickly shuffling back and forth through his fur towards his rear again. “That’s not the safe word.”

 

“WHAT???” The rest of Nick’s argument devolved into a series of whimpers and animalistic pleading. “J-Judy p – please I can’t – I can’t take it anymore, I need release, I’m gonna die if you keep –“ The rest faded into a pleasureful whining. From the looks of his manic grinning and hearing the _pat-pat-pat-pat_ of his tail wagging, he was still doing a-okay.

 

His tongue snaked out, and Nick gave Judy a long, pleading lick up her arm, shoulder, and neck. A begging and submissive gesture from one animal to another. His own panting mostly disguised her own moaning as the hot, wet, soft yet firm muscle tasted her neck, cresting against her tiny jaw line. She quickly recovered and leaned into his head.

 

“The way you’re begging makes it sound like I’m doing something far, _far_ more intimate for you, Mr. Wilde,” she whispered into the triangle of his ear. Her fox displayed a manic, toothy grin, tongue lolling out the side.

 

“Is – is that what w – we’re going to do after this? Because I can def – hahhhh hhhhnngh – definitely pay you back for this with ahhhh haaaahh hhnngggh a head-to-toe tongue bath.”

 

She instantly thought of the pleading lick he had just given her.

 

_IMPORTANT NOTE TO SELF: HOLD HIM TO THAT PROMISE._

 

“Head-to-toe?” she asked.

 

“Hnnggh hahhhh and everywhere in between,” the fox confirmed with a grin that made her underwear feel all the more constricting against her bottom.

 

Smiling with equal excitement, Judy chirped, “Deal.”

 

She resumed scratching with renewed vigor. “You gunna ahhh hggn goddd yasss you gunna stop any – anytime soon, Carrots?” Nick asked, not sounding definitive in his conviction. Judy honestly couldn’t tell if he really wanted her to stop or not. She couldn’t even decide if she was ready to stop.

 

Still, the fox panted, smiling, eyes lidded in euphoria. Her apartment smelled absolutely exultant.

 

So Judy leaned into Nick’s ear and whispered, “Only if you remember that safe word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please tell me what you thought!
> 
> And to think, the one i wanted to upload first instead of this one was a dark, depressing, and violent horror story. Couldn't get it ready in time for Hallow's Eve.


	4. . . . And I'll scratch Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or 'lick' instead of 'scratch.' That would be more appropriate here. But there's no way in hell i'm messing up how i set up the titles of Chapter's 2 and 3. 
> 
> So if you'd like a synopsis, this is the direct continuation of Chapter 2.

She stood in front of him, arms held behind her back, pivoting on one leg, the other tracing back and forth on the hardwood of her tiny abode. Judy bit her lip, a nervous tick, while trying to maintain a degree of seriousness with him.

 

As if one could possibly maintain a serious tone about what she was about to ask of Nick Wilde.

 

Nick smiled at her, keeping his lips closed. When one mammal sees their best friend naked one day, and calls them back into their apartment the next just to be stared at in silence, both parties have a good idea of what is about to happen.

 

“Go ahead,” he taunted in a delicate and pseudo-haughty voice. “Ask.”

 

“Okay,” Judy managed past the giggles that were bubbling up to the surface. She could feel a light heat in her face. Unknowingly, she began rocking back and forth on her heels.

 

“You promised me a, and I quote, ‘head – to – toe tongue bath’ as payment for my scratching services.”

 

She paused, waited. He said nothing, did nothing, but continue to grin at her.

 

“And?” he dared.

 

_And this is it here we go._

 

“And I’ve got you here because I want to collect,” Judy said, the breath now refusing to enter her lungs.

 

Did she want this? Oh yes.

 

Was she scared, embarrassed, excited, thrilled, and nervous beyond belief of what she was asking? Oh yes.

 

The fox’s eyebrows went up and his smile widened. “Is that right?”

 

Judy nodded, perhaps a little too quickly on account of her nerves.

 

He regarded her for a moment longer, before simply stating, “All right.” Judy’s smile broke out into a wide face grin before Nick held up his paw.

 

“First things first. Go do an hour long work out.” He lowered his paw again, and Judy’s face dropped.

 

“W-what? Why?”

 

“Because the scent of the soap you used to shower with is burning my nostrils from way over here,” he answered, “And I do not want to find out the effects soap like that can do if it comes into contact with my tongue.”

 

Judy eyed him with mild caution. “So you want me to go work out as opposed to that? Get all sweaty and gross?”

 

Nick nodded, still smiling. “You may think it’s gross. I think it’s anything but gross. The polar opposite of gross, really. You think you smell gross, I think you smell . . . well, it’s hard to explain. But that is neither here nor there. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it the right way. Now, go do your bunny work out. Really work up a sweat. It’ll give me a real good reason to clean you top to bottom.”

 

Judy took that as the hint to go get changed into her workout clothes. She returned to find him standing by her door, a look of patience resting on his face. Judy walked over to him, and he promptly ushered her out the door, as if he, the host, was politely kicking out an unruly guest.

 

“Now Judith,” he told her, handing a dumbstruck bunny her keys as he shut the door, “do not wash off. Once you’re done, come straight back here. No stops along the way.”

 

He leaned in to her face before closing the door, eye narrowing at her, one canine biting his lip. “Just remember, it’s rude to keep a fox waiting.” With a click, the bewildered rabbit was staring at her shut door.

 

~

 

Workout he wanted, so workout she did. The gym was only a few blocks away, mercifully, as Judy excitedly sprinted in, leaping over the turnstyle counter top, flashing her police badge that doubled as a membership pass at this particular gym.

 

The gym was mercifully a little warmer then normal. She felt her core temperature increase merely by entering.

 

First on the list, one mile warm up jog, followed by a five mile run, with a one mile cool down. Followed immediately by four reps of forty sit-ups and forty crunches, spaced by high jumps, two reps of fifteen.

 

At the end of her hour, Judy was practically dripping sweat. And out of breath. Very out of breath. Exiting the gym, she did just as he asked, bee-lining straight back to her apartment.

 

Walking up to her apartment door, she stopped before reaching for her keys, imagining what she would ‘taste’ like. Salty, she thought. Sweat is salty. Makes sense.

 

Probably more than that, she quickly added on. A prey mammal likely tasted like, what? Not _bad,_ per se, to a former

 

_Or still_

 

natural predator, a fox. A rabbit probably tastes . . . good.

 

She shivered at the thought, inhaled then exhaled, and opened her door.

 

Nick sat on her couch, shirt unbuttoned, tie undone and hanging around his neck like a boa, grinning at her. In the relative shade of her apartment, Nick’s green eyes seemed to glow, his pupils widening to see her.

 

The fox inhaled, closing his eyes briefly, nostrils twitching.

 

“Just . . . lovely,” he cooed, eyes opening to gaze at her. He made a come hither motion with his fingers, black claws out and gleaming, and Judy, her fists balling in excitement, obeyed his command, kicking the door shut behind her.

 

“Now we’re making headway,” he said. “Same rules as last time. What do you want the safe word to be?”

 

“Blueberries,” she tittered. Nick snorted a small laugh, rolling his eyes.

 

“Of course you’d pick that. Alright,” he motioned to her with two fingers, his tone becoming more serious, “Lose it.”

 

Judy’s face warped in confusion when he did not elaborate on what ‘lose it’ meant. “I’m sorry? I don’t follow –“

 

She was stopped by the fox leaning in towards her, their faces inches apart, arms behind his back, eyes narrowing at her.

 

“I can’t really give you a tongue bath if you’re fully clothed, Judith.” He said the next word with an exceptionally forceful tone that sent an electric charge of lust rolling down her belly and groin.

 

“ _Strip_.”

 

Judy felt the blush run through the entirety of her body, along with the jolt of adrenaline at the command. Judy hurriedly began pulling off her workout clothes, leaving them wherever they fell on the floor.

 

She stood, now keenly aware of the cool air in her apartment. More keenly aware of the look Nick was giving her.

 

“Judy?”

 

“Y-yes, Nick?”

 

He tilted his head towards the small pair of underwear covering her bottom. “You’re not fully naked, Judy.”

 

“O-oh! Yeah, of course! J-Just working my way there!”

 

“Hmmm,” Nick seemed to absent-mindedly ponder her reasoning as he sauntered over to her, eyes half lidded and pupils wide. His nostrils flared, greedily inhaling quicker and quicker as he drew nearer.

 

Judy felt frozen in place; her eyes locked with his as he slowly closed the distance between them at an excruciatingly glacial pace.

 

_Don’t move do not move the predator will see you he will hear you he will smell you_

 

Of course, the conscious part of her new that old game was already up. Yet still the voice in the back of her head continued to scream at her in a last ditch effort of self preservation.

 

The clash between drives was squeezing her chest, her breathing becoming hitched, her heart rate increasing its beats per minute. She felt the muscular pull of arousal began to take a strong and unforgiving group throughout the rest of her body, spreading like warm water across her sex, skin, and fur.

 

Both conscious and unconscious were very aware of the toothy smile the fox was giving her, the way the fox would occasionally bite the corner of his lips while holding her eyes with his own.

 

They way the predator would appraise the prey.

 

So the rabbit stayed perfectly still, almost naked, before the fox.

 

Nick didn’t stop in front of her, continued circling around her and ghosting her ankles with his tail.

 

“I have to say,” Nick started, looking down Judy’s side as he circled her, “that even if you don’t like hearing the word, this is stupidly cute.” With one black claw, he pointed and made brief and direct contact with the small black bow on the front of her panties.

 

His partner squirmed, and barely hid the moan at feeling something so sharp press so delicately against the soft mound above her sex. The contact was disappointingly brief as soon as Nick drew his claw away from her and moved elsewhere.

 

Judy gasped when she felt his claws begin tracing the thin tissue of her ears, felt them push together and pinch to meet from one side to the other.

 

“Ahhhh haahhh aaaaahhhh,” was what Judy could make out as Nick began running his pinched claws up and down the length of her erect ears. The sensation bordered painful, but was not uncomfortable nor drew blood. It was so fierce and immediate that the best way to categorize it was through pain first, then into pleasure, like fingers working out a tough and stubborn knot buried deep in muscle.

 

“We’ll start when you take this lovely little item off you body,” he whispered into her free ear, his other paw in front of her face, pointing downwards. Judy, eyes fluttering from the massage, tried to take her underwear off, but only managed them down to her thighs.

 

As Nick ran his claws up her ears, her body rose with them until she was standing on her tiptoes. The heightened sensation of feeling natural blades run against her skin kept her from chancing any injury and reaching down to fully wiggle out of her underwear.

 

She heard his laughter, dark and mischievous, from behind her head.

 

“Need some help?”

 

“I, uh-I can’t . . . you need to l-l-let go of my ears, Nick,” she pleaded back. His claws were pinched at the top fold of her ears, effectively holding her on her tip toes. “I c – can’t reach.”

 

“That’s okay,” he cooed to her. “I’ll help.” With his free paw, his arm longer then her own, he reached down and pulled her underwear right to her ankles, which the rabbit quickly kicked off. The fox released his hold on her and stepped back.

 

Again, Judy froze, facing her wall and facing away from him, arms and paws curling towards her chest against the cool ambient temperature of her apartment. She felt a set of eyes burning into her behind.

 

“And I finally get to see that beyond cute yet oh so sexy little butt of yours,” Nick practically purred behind her. Judy couldn’t help nor stop the rapid and happy twitch of her tail at the compliment.

 

Silence, then, “Okay, for whatever reason, if I thought your butt was great looking with pants on, that wiggle your tail just did made your butt that much hotter.” Judy now did nothing to suppress the happy giggle that escaped her due to Nick’s honesty.

 

In a quiet, nervous voice, Judy asked, “Soooo . . . ?”

 

“So ‘what’?” Nick countered, circling back towards her front. When he came into view, that same manic and toothy smile from when she was scratching him was back on his face. His nostrils were flaring, and Judy could actually see his chest physically expanding and deflating with each inhale and exhale.

 

“So!?” she practically yelled in giddy anticipation at him, quickly reeling herself back in, “You know . . . what do you, uhm, think? Of me?”

 

“That there’s just no way any one rabbit could be this outstanding and sexy looking,” was Nick’s immediate answer, eyes flying over every part of her front. “That I have been waiting for this moment every since I first glimpsed a peak at your ass in your uniform. That I’m pleasantly surprised at just how damn turned on I am over you. And it seems someone feels the same way.” He inhaled, eyes closing, and shuttering. He could just taste her excitement on the back of his tongue.

 

Nick was feeling a rising wave of excitement at knowing he would soon be tasting much more of her.

 

He then walked to her, and without being aware of it, Judy took a step back at his sudden advancement.

 

“Another rule,” he added, bending his knees down to lock eyes at her level. “No moving. I don’t want you jumping all over the place. Don’t want to get startled and bite down on my tongue.”

 

“Got it! Yeah, no moving!” She quickly agreed as Nick began sniffing around her torso, feeling the cool rushes of his inhalations followed by delightfully warm exhalations against her thin fur.

 

The fox circled her again, his tail brushing up against her shins, when she felt it. The almost _hot_ sensation of his tongue smoothing over the fur at the back of her head, at the base of her ears, followed by the icy and tingling sensation of the saliva cooling against her fur and skin at the muscle’s absence.

 

The breath hitched in her chest, and what escaped her mouth was between a small laugh and a groan.

 

“You know,” he started in a low voice from behind her, “despite finally smelling that absolutely intoxicating and alluring scent coming from between your legs right now, I was also looking forward to this part.” He licked at the base of her ears, the heat seeping across the bases and into her temple. The fox followed it up with a small nip at the base of her left ear before continuing, spacing the laps with sentences.

 

“Right here, you just smell oh so much like you,” he purred, licking down the back of her head and onto the base of her neck and back. “Right here you smell completely and wholly of Judy.”

 

“Didn’t – hnnnnghhh – didn’t know you were building a scent p-profile of me, Slick,” Judy managed through breaths between the hot and cold sensations burning then freezing across her back.

 

“I work with you every day of the week, and typically see you either Saturday or Sunday Carrots,” he replied. “I’ve got every part of your scent memorized for the rest of my days with how much time I spend with you.”

 

“And wha – what do I smell like that’s so recognizable?” she asked as his tongue circled around the small of her back. She heard him chuckle as her tail twitched and fluttered under his chin.

 

“Like summer fields,” he licked up her left side, eliciting a small shudder from her, “like pine needles,” as he ran his tongue down her right side.

 

“Like a rabbit, smelling timid, quiet, and coursing with adrenaline.” He paused for a moment, and issued a small growl.

 

“Like _prey_ ,” he surprised both of them by not licking but giving a sharp nip to her right butt cheek.

 

Judy jumped and squeaked, leaving the floor and landing a foot away and now facing the fox, who for a moment, matched her shocked expression.

 

Judy was not going to ask him to _not_ do that again, because just through her eyes and twitching smile, it was evident to both parties that the rabbit enjoyed the little bite on her rear. A flash of fire in the pan that burned so hot, that burned so good.

 

“Huh,” Nick more mused to himself than to her, putting his smile back on, “not one hundred percent sure why I did that . . .”

 

“Probably something in that hindbrain of yours that said why not get a little more than a mouthful of your favorite rabbit?” Judy answered immediately through an impish smile.

 

“Heh, maybe,” he admitted, slowly walking over to her. “How’re you doing?”

 

“I’ll admit, this is better than a massage. My backside’s feeling cool, while my front would like some attention,” Judy smiled at him, biting her lip.

 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed her, now standing before her, lips peeling back over his teeth in a devilish grin. Judy did as he asked, eyes pinching shut and fists balling in anticipation.

 

For a moment, with her eyes closed, Nick just stood in front of her, not moving, to savor the image of her body. And to absolutely bask in the presence of someone who placed such trust in him. A prey mammal doing what would be considered suicidal ideation to the rest of her kind. And a predator doing what would be considered perpetuating a negative stereotype.

 

He placed his nose directly in the center of her chest and inhaled slowly, feeling her soft and delicately feminine scent coat and line his windpipe and lungs.

 

“Like ‘prey’, huh?” Judy asked through a small grin.

 

Nick instantly placed his bared teeth against her throat and growled, low and throaty at her. Judy froze. Within a moment, the deep and hot scent of her arousal reached his nose. He had been correct.

 

_Teeth and claws, my dear Judy. Hallmarks of your fantasies, no doubt._

 

“I said _don’t move_ ,” he commanded into her throat, enjoying her squirming legs, the suppressed moan in her throat, hearing and feeling her swallow back mild panic and excitement.

 

It came to him. Something saturating on top of the scent of her sex and her heat. Pure adrenaline. Panic. Flight or Fight, of course in her case, flight. The syrupy, sweet scent of a scared prey mammal mingling with her steadily increasing arousal.

 

All of his conscious and all of his unconscious demanded he pounce on her and open her legs and knot her and breed her, feel her take him in and satisfy both him and his mate.

 

Another part of his unconscious, something very primitive and old, something locked far away deep in the dark recesses of the id, demanded he be much more aggressive. Growl more, bark at her. Snap at her. Hunt her down.

 

“Glad I’m not the only one turned on by this,” Judy muttered, eyes still closed, now starting to smell a very horny fox.

 

“Oh, you have not the slightest idea, rabbit,” he whispered back, taking a long drag with his tongue up her throat and cresting at her chin.

 

“Ohhhh my godddd, Nickkk,” Judy breathed out, panting as the long, hot, and wet muscle of his tongue rolled up over her jawline and up the side of her face.

 

 _Forget ever using hot washcloths again, I’m just going to call him_.

 

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” he whispered into her ear.

 

“God n-no,” was her response as his licked across her cheek, quickly over her lips, and onto her other cheek. For the ever-growing list of things he was thoroughly enjoying about this, hearing her rapid and shallow breathing was competing with how a horny bunny smelled.

 

“You know what else I absolutely adore about your scent, Carrots?” he asked as he licked down her sternum and over the taught muscles of her belly.

 

“W – wha – what’s that?” She looked down at him, eyes widening.

 

His focused sniffing and investigation of her body and hips landed him in front of her sex.

 

“Just how absolutely, wonderfully _female_ you smell.” Judy squeaked again at feeling a cold and wet nose press directly into her folds, nudging delicately into her sex, and at feeling the sudden, cool rush of air around her lips and clit as Nick deeply inhaled her.

 

His lungs were full of her, his mouth salivating, his own sex growing and begging for him to tear off the tight confines of his pants. Pure conscious restraint was needed to keep his lips from peeling all the way past his teeth. He wanted to growl so god damn badly at finally getting to sample her. The way his jaws were trying to quake, it would be a recipe for sharp ends on delicate bits that he didn’t feel like chancing.

 

Judy finally inhaled, sucking in breath she had no idea her body was starting to beg for. She looked down at the fox on his knees before her, green eyes with slitted, hungry pupils staring back up at her.

 

When he pulled his muzzle out and away from between her legs, she groaned in desperate protest, placing her two paws on his muzzle and tried to pull him back into the V of her legs. Nick quickly shook his head free of her embrace.

 

“Ah ah ah, Hopps,” he singsonged to her. “We agreed head to toe. I still haven’t gotten your legs yet.”

 

He smiled at her crest fallen face before his tongue began tracing hot, wet circles around her ankles and paths up her small calves.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’monnnnnn,” Judy pleaded softly as the hot muscle circled further and further up her thighs, back to where she so desperately needed him. Her right foot began to _thump-thump-thump_ on the floorboards in impatience.

 

“Almost there,” he cooed, tongue lapping up the side of her rear.

 

His tongue rolled over her rear, claws beginning to trace lines in her fur and against her skin on her other cheek. Nick heard her gasp and start moaning.

 

Judy tried to inhale in mild shock, but couldn’t, when she felt Nick’s hands grab her cheeks, spread them, tongue slip across her anus and began rimming her, circling her hole.

 

The thought of stopping him never occurred to her.

 

She was honestly amazed at how much she enjoyed it, completely amazed at the fact, besides the wonderful sensation, of _how much_ she enjoyed it.

 

Judy reached back and grabbed the scruff of fur behind Nick’s head, keeping him in place while his tongue continued tracing taught and close circles on her, sometimes penetrating into her, eliciting sharp gasps and deep moans. Judy felt the pull of an encroaching wave start to climb across her muscles, pulling tighter and tighter, ready to snap, as his tongue pressed harder and harder circles into her anus and his teeth began scratching against her supple rear.

 

His tongue and teeth suddenly retracted from between her rear, and Judy turned to him, face pinching in annoyance and confusion when he didn’t resume.

 

“Nick! What. The. Hell!?” she asked while trying to catch her breath.

 

“Too much?” he asked her with a faux-innocent look on his face.

 

“No!” she practically yelled. “Why don’t you go all the way through with it?” The silence that filled the room quickly reverberated back into her ears, and beneath her fur Judy felt her skin heat to an uncomfortable level.

 

That wicked grin again appeared on his muzzle. “Didn’t want to go too hard too fast. Some mammals aren’t into it. Although, I will admit, I’m thrilled you enjoyed that as much as I did.” The fox, on all fours, claws _tick-tick-tick-tick_ ing against the floor, began padding towards her, ears twitching and nostrils flaring.

 

“Y-yeah, I’ll admit, _that_ – that was new,” she stuttered, watching Nick crawl on all fours towards her in such a slow and controlled pace. “A-and that I really . . . really enjoyed _that_.”

 

“We can try that again later,” he whispered to her. “But first things first. One last spot I’ve yet to clean on you.”

 

Judy felt the wall come up and stop her. She hadn’t even been aware that she was backing away from him. Funny. Because the closer Nick drew to her, the more her legs wiggled apart and the more she just want to sit flat down and open her legs as wide as possible for him.

 

“Still haven’t heard that safeword, Carrots.” He more taunted her, delighting in seeing her squirm, then actually warned her.

 

“Nick,” Judy breathed, eyes lidded, her chest heaving and cheeks flushed. “Like HELL am I going to use the safeword. I just almost got off to you rimming me. Please, I am so . . . so _horny_ I think I’m going to pass out unless you take care of it.”

 

The fox crawled up to her, one paw grabbing her left thigh, the other her right, and his head craned into her heat, nose greedily inhaling as he grew closer to her. Nick could feel the heat of her sex, now dripping with arousal down her left thigh and back across her cheeks on his nose.

 

His whiskers brushed against her outer lips first, tickling across the soft pink flesh of her anatomy. Nick then just pushed his muzzle onto her heat, and kissed.

 

“OHhhh sweet cheese and crackers oh god oh god oh thank goddddd,” Judy moaned, fingers curling and uncurling, searching over his head, trying to find an ample amount of fur to grasp and hold on to.

 

Nick’s kissing on her labia opened up, and he began vigorously lapping at her sex, the whole flat of his rough tongue covering her entire entrance, front to back, with each drawl. Judy gave up on trying to suppress the pitiful moaning escaping her as Nick began eating her out.

 

Judy’s legs began quaking at feeling his tongue and lips push and smooth over her outer sex and against the hyper sensitive bud of her clit, felt Nick place her bud between his lips and gentle suckle on her.

 

Her verbal begging resumed. “C’mon, c’mon go deeper, please go deeper,” she pleaded with him, now leaning into his muzzle, trying to push her aching and swollen sex further into his maw.

 

Nick indulged her wish, and opened his mouth. Judy actually yelped in sharp pleasure as sparks flew behind her eyes at the sensation of sharp teeth parting her fur ran across her rear and up her stomach. Her butt slid down into his maw, and his tongue moved up.

 

His tongue moved back and forth across her outer lips before pushing into her body, parting her inner folds and pushing deep into her craving sex. She cried out what was probably his name as she felt his tongue reach further into her than she would have dreamed. She had climaxed many other times to this exact fantasy, but the reality of the experience was wholly and completely eclipsing her expectations of what it would really be like.

 

Judy felt her mind starting to rattle, felt her breathing become an engine that was fueling oxygen to the fire in her belly, the coals being stirred with a fox’s tongue. It was all going to combust and burn across her body, the heat beginning to pinch and flare in fierce pricks of pleasure across her skin and on her labia and clitoris.

 

Nick, out of the corner of his eye, saw her legs shaking, toes curling, and released her thighs to grip her ass, her toned yet supple rear filling his paws. Judy took the opportunity to wrap her legs across the back of his head and down his back, crossing her ankles.

 

Her breaths were barely escaping her mouth, moans and gasps of pure ecstasy as his tongue rolled and coiled into her, massaging her inner walls, reaching and smoothing deeper into her body.

 

Whatever words Judy could form devolved into panting pleads with the fox, begging that he didn’t stop, begging that he’d keep going, begging for sweet and euphoric release.

 

"F-fuck, don't sto-stop, pleaseeee i'm so close so close i'm gonna - gonna cum . . . "

 

And it came when Judy opened her eyes and locked gaze with green emeralds with black slits splitting the color of his eyes and feeling him bite down just a little, just enough to feel the exquisitely painful pleasure shoot across her ass and stomach and feeling his tongue push all the way into her sex, filling her completely and tasting the flexing, hungry circle of her cervix.

 

And the fire combusted into an explosive orgasm that Nick felt and tasted across his tongue as Judy came on him, her whole body convulsing violently in his jaws, felt her vaginal walls spacing and contracting rapidly, squeezing down on his tongue, and felt her heady nectar begin running down his tongue and down into his mouth and throat. He listened to her screaming his name over and over as each fiery wave of orgasm crashed through her muscles, running and spreading out from the wire-taught muscle around her pussy. He felt with a hint of savage glee as she gripped his ears, holding onto him for dear life as she rode his face through another orgasm, shuddering and yelping as her mind flew apart from the sheer force of the pleasure.

 

Nick let her slowly come down from the rollercoaster high she so bravely weathered, her breathing now coming out in long and heavy heaving, her eyes shut and a small line of drool running off her bottom lip.

 

Gently and slowly, he began laying them both down, her back sliding against the wall while he pulled his tongue back out from inside her, his teeth scraping against her plush rear and contracting stomach.

 

Having safely pulled her out of his jaws, he set her down on her butt with her back to the wall to face him. His pants felt painfully tight, and he now was cursing himself for not having the foresight to just’ve gotten naked with her at the start.

 

But, it wasn’t like they were going anywhere, were they? Judy looked exhausted but the impish smile that was slowly widening across her face said otherwise. She shuddered and looked back at her partner. Unconsciously, one of her paws began massaging her nipples. The other began massaging the mound above her entrance, flexing the dripping, pink flesh of her womanhood.

 

Not down, not out.

 

A fresh wave of sexual arousal flushed his sense of smell.

 

“There,” he whispered to her, hungrily licking her body’s juices from his lips and muzzle, “all clean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, i wrote smut. 
> 
> . . . . It turned smutty, who woulda thought?


	5. The Fox Who Ate the Canary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A darkly comical look at a situation where Judy finally realizes what the expression ‘grinning like the cat who ate the canary’ truly means.  
> Proofread by the wonderful DrummerMax64.

Hindsight is usually 20/20.

 

So Judy found herself thinking that she shouldn’t be too surprised by what she found when she arrived at her apartment. Various household items like bowls and books strewn across the floor. An overturned chair. A set of drapes pulled down. An empty birdcage with its little latch door swinging open.

 

Nick on all fours, shirt unbuttoned, facing askew to Judy, enough that she could see the side profile of his face. And the almost daisy-yellow feathered thing currently being thrashed about in his toothy maw.

 

Ok. She had a little bit of a right to be surprised.

 

If she had anything to say about the situation she was witnessing, it was currently lodged firmly in her throat. Judy felt completely numb and, at the moment, couldn’t will the words out from her mouth or move a muscle. Her nose was plenty fine to twitch and wiggle like crazy, though. 

 

Something very old and hardwired in the back of her brain switched on. Something that was screaming.

 

_Danger Danger Predator Killing Prey Predator Devouring Prey Run Run Run As Fast As You Can_

_Foxes are crafty hunters that eat bunnies_

 

And all she could do was stare. Nick, still on all fours, lifted his head up, and Judy could just make out the yellow, white, and red stained mass in his jaws, including two little feet. In one bob of his head, she watched what remained of the bird vanish behind his molars and quickly travel down his throat.

 

Nick, too enraptured in his kill to notice Judy standing in her doorway, smiled at himself. The smile was not evil, nor malicious. But Judy recognized it as one of his telltale hustler expressions. A mask he wore under the right circumstances.

 

A whole lot of smug, a little bit of pride, and a dash of deviousness reflected from his toothy grin and beamed from his eyes. The face he wore when he successfully pulled the wool over another mammal's eyes. The one Nick wore when he landed a successful barb on someone that had no chance of returning volley.

 

One hungry red fox + one canary = should have expected something like this = Hindsight is 20/20.

 

Nick turned, eyes squinting as a byproduct of his smile, and saw Judy. His expression instantly changed to the frightened and wide-eyed mammal caught red-handed. Almost exactly like the one Nick had given Judy when she had him dead to rights on tax evasion charges.

 

For a moment that felt one second short of eternity, they stared at each other, Judy’s mouth hanging open and Nick’s mouth pressed into a hard line.

 

The word caught in Judy’s throat finally made its way out. “N-Nick?”

 

His voice was a little meeker than he would’ve liked. “Y-yeah?”

 

When he spoke, Judy watched as a tiny yellow feather, disrupted by him moving his lips, drifted off the edge of his muzzle before settling gracefully on the floor. That was what did it. Judy erupted.

 

“SWEET CHEESE AND CRACKERS NICK! What have you done?!”

 

“Uhm, that depends,” he replied, eyes looking for any possibility of escaping this increasingly horrible and nightmarish scenario. “How much did you see, exactly?”

 

Her paws went into fists and straightened down at her sides. “I just watched you swallow that canary!!”

 

Nick grimaced as if he tasted something unpleasant. “Ahhhh you, uh, saw all of that, huh?”

 

“YES! Nick! I saw ALL of that!” Judy yelled at him with a wide and pained look on her face, and right there, in one look, Nick felt his world begin slipping away.

 

_This is it. This is where you finally fucked it all up. Not because of a comment that hurt her feelings beyond repair. Not from being a smart ass all the time. Nope. This. Because this is where she finally sees you for what you really are._

 

His thoughts would have continued to spiral out of control had she not started walking towards him, small arms reaching out to him. Nick gasped when those tiny paws slowly smoothed over his muzzle, and he looked directly into her eyes.

 

“Nick,” Judy started, “please be honest with me. Why did you eat Tweety?”

 

For a moment, Nick’s expression took on an incredulous look. “You’re joking. Its name was ‘Tweety’ . . . ?” Judy’s hard and unflinching expression didn’t so much as twitch. After a moment of nervously humming and trying to form words, Nick broke down. As much as Nick Wilde could break down about eating a live bird, so to speak.

 

“Aw Judes! Look, I’m sorry, I really am – despite what you just saw. It’s just that when I got in, you were gone and I saw the birdcage. So of course I’m curious because I’m not really sure why there’s a caged bird in your apartment and I want to see what the bird’s all about so I open the cage and try to get it on my paw – not to eat it! – but then the stupid bird just starts flying around and – and – and I – ” Nick stopped, collapsing onto his knees in front of her.

 

“And I just don’t know what happened to me.” Nick’s voice trailed off and the apologetic expression in his eyes morphed into something . . . else. Something more focused. Something that was less apologetic, and more calculating.

 

Perhaps more predatory.

 

“It was like, the moment I saw the bird take to the air, something inside me snapped. I just felt this urge . . . this strong _urge_ , like a pull, like a command, to chase it, to hunt it down . . . That stupid bird did it for me.” Nick stopped, seemingly lost in thought and staring through Judy, who was now watching and listening with what at best could be morbid fascination and what at worst could be complete disgust.

 

“Next thing I know, I’m chasing after it, and I’m – I’m loving it. Absolutely _loving_ every goddamn moment of the chase, at smelling it, at hearing it flap around, at knowing that I could catch it. I felt so free, so alive, so _hungry_ , I just – There was just no way I could stop myself. Next thing I know I had that delicious . . . ” He paused, eyes going a little wider at his admittance before grimacing and backtracking. “Sorry, when I had that bird in my mouth and it was as though I had no other choice. Every muscle in my body and the fox in the back of my head was screaming at me to keep going, to keep shaking it until it stopped moving. And then . . . ”

 

Nick looked up to meet Judy’s eyes. The embarrassment, the pain, the fear in his eyes was practically palpable. “I ate the canary. Judy, I am so, so, sorry. I never wanted you to see me like this.”

 

Nick stared at her stomach, refusing to look up at whatever expression that would surely be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. One of terror, disgust, regret, sadness. All things Judy Hopps was surely thinking about him at his confession.

 

“Nick,” she sighed from above his head. Nick felt ready to throw the canary back up. “We are so dead . . . ”

 

Still staring at her stomach, something that used to inspire awe and desire, Nick’s face warped a little as the words processed.

 

“Dead? We? As in ‘you and I’ are so dead?”

 

More out of reflex than out of conscious direction, Nick looked up to see Judy wearing a mask of pure panic. But not at him, because she held his stare without flinching.

 

“Nick,” Judy breathed, “that bird belonged to Chief Bogo.”

 

There was complete silence in the apartment. Outside, the city continued with its constant state of rancor. Inside, Nick heard his heart in his ears. The last word Judy muttered kept replaying in his mind on top of this horrible scene.

 

“Bogo . . . ?” he breathed.

 

“Eeeyup,” Judy slowly whispered back. “I agreed to bird sit Tweety for a day while Bogo’s home was being fumigated. I brought him home with me last night.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were bird sitting?”

 

“Because, Nick, I honestly didn’t think that _this_ was going to be the outcome of bringing a bird into my apartment for less than twenty four hours.”

 

Nick felt like he was trying to speak in a vacuum. “When are – _were_ – you supposed to give him his pet back?”

 

Judy slowed looked at her watch, and winced at the time check. “I promised Bogo I’d drop Tweety off at the station in one hour.”

 

“Oh . . . Oh God . . . ” was what Nick managed before finding his voice again. “Of all the cons I’ve done that have backfired like the fourth of July, this ranks up there. I’m dead. I am so dead. I am out of a job dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead. I am absolutely dicked – ”

 

Two tiny and delicate paws lifted the end of his muzzle to face her again. Judy exhaled, inhaled, and Nick saw it in her eyes. That little spark that entailed a certain bunny having the strength to move mountains.

 

“Nope,” Judy told him, “ _We_ are _not_ totally dicked. We are going to figure a way out of this. We are police officers for Carrot’s sake and I will not be resigned to parking duty for the next five years with you if I’ve got anything to say about it.” She ruffled the top of his head, her paw getting both bases of his ears.

 

Nick just looked at her. “Judy . . . I get that you’re panicking, but tell me you’re not disgusted by me?”

 

He watched her every action. Watched her inhale and exhale more gently while looking directly at him. She smiled. She actually smiled at him.

 

“No, Nick. Strangely enough, can’t say I am.”

 

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel like less of a monster?” Nick muttered.

 

She actually laughed, a small bark in spite of herself. “Nope. Am I surprised? Yes. Bewildered? Yes. Panicking? Oh definitely, but at our current situation, not you. But disgusted with you? Of all mammals on this Earth? Not in the slightest.”

 

His only response was, “Why?”

 

And she replied in honesty, true to her form, with a shrug. “Because I love you for you and every part of you. Including the hungry predator part that just snapped up a bird and made a small mess of my apartment. Yeah, there’s no way I can possibly understand it, but I take you for you in whole. Plus, can’t really be too bent out of shape when I know for a fact how much you love sushi, chicken, duck, turkey, quail . . . ” Judy proceeded to list every bird she could recall that Nick had expressed explicit hunger pangs over. Nick just stared at her, mouth hanging open.

 

_Karma bless her; she hasn’t given up on me._

 

Judy turned and made towards her door, an obvious sign for Nick to get up off his orange furry behind and start after her. “There’s a pet store down on Furmington and Adley. I’m sure I’ve seen pet birds in the windows there. With any luck, they’ll have a yellowish one for sale that we can buy and pass off as the real deal to Bogo.”

 

Nick felt his jaw drop and his chest fill with a mixture of pride and relief. “A blind swap . . . Do you really think he’ll fall for that?” he questioned as he got up after her.

 

She turned to him in her doorway. “You want to try explaining what happened here to him? Cause if so, that’s your grave – and your grave alone – to dig, Wilde. Best idea I’ve got.”

 

Again, silence. Nick considered the alternative for a second then gently shook his head at her challenge.

 

“Right then. C’mon!” Judy said in a mock cheerful tone, waving to him and starting out her door.

 

~

 

They stopped in front of the pet store, Tweety’s cage in Nick’s paws, mouths hanging open and nervous laughter escaping both of them. Praise be to all Gods listening, the store had birds for sale. And one practically identical canary up for grabs, fluttering happily in its enclosure behind the glass.

 

Judy started for the front door but stopped at seeing Nick’s still reflection in the glass. She turned back and saw wide, panicked eyes staring back.

 

“Oh what now, Nick?”

 

“Uh, well, Judy? Have you ever been into a pet store?” She shook her head.

 

“Yeahhh, well neither have I, nor any other sane minded predator I imagine. I’m one hundred percent sure that the only mammals you find in any pet store are prey mammals.”

 

“Well, why’s that?” Judy’s eyebrows curved in question.

 

“Because of what just happened!” Nick exclaimed with his arms in the air. He then quickly looked around him, as if he just announced his little feast to the city itself. “Look, Judy, there’s no denying that we preds have certain . . . tastes when it comes to our preferred foods. Everyone knows it, and at least the polite prey mammals don’t bring it up. For a pred to go into a pet store would be absolute social suicide! Rumors would circulate quicker than Captain Ashmore’s record for the mile run at the academy. And that kind of damage to the ZPD? Bogo would have my head for that besides eating his stupid, albeit tasty, pet.”

 

Judy began thinking. Nick had a good point. It wouldn’t be great for the ZPD to have that kind of story, rumor mill it was, circulating around the city about the one officer who once upon a time was as far from law abiding as one could get.

 

At the same time, Nick was the doof who got them into this mess by indulging in his basic instincts without thinking of the repercussions.

 

“You have your badge?” Judy asked.

 

“Of course,” Nick said, patting his pocket.

 

“Then come on in, Slick. You got us into this mess, I’ll be damned if you let me do all the heavy lifting. Anyone asks, we are off duty police officers building community relations and combating prejudices against predators that still prevail. No one, not even the tabloids, can denounce that.” With a beaming smile, Judy held the door open for Nick.

 

“Ohhhh boy,” Nick muttered as he walked into the pet store, Judy right behind him.

 

While Nick didn’t notice Judy’s reaction to the various reptiles and birds for sale, Judy did notice Nick’s reactions to the selection of pets.

 

His ears began telescopically rotating in different directions, both trying to pinpoint each bird currently chirping. Nick must have known he was acting oddly, and was trying not to sniff in every other direction with each step he took. He held his paws behind his back, fingers interlaced, as if to restrain himself. The pair approached the counter and the clerk, a female elephant whose nametag read ‘Marta.’

 

“Good afternoon Marta,” Judy started off with a smile. “Is that a canary you have for sale out in the window?”

 

“Mhmm,” the elephant murmured while staring at a desktop. Judy waited for more conversation from the cashier, but Nick already knew that no more was coming.

 

“Well, we’d like to buy it!” Judy chirped.

 

Marta, without moving her head, eyed Judy, then Nick. “We? As in you _two_?”

 

Judy immediately caught her tone and backtracked. “Uh, no. Just me. He’s just looking around. I don’t think he’s planning on buying anything.” Both rabbit and elephant turned to the fox, who was currently sizing up a pink-toed tarantula in its terrarium. Nick, unaware of the conversation and stares, bared his teeth and claws in mock menace at the spider. The spider returned his barb with raised front legs and outpointed fangs.

 

“Y-yeah! Not him, just me!” Judy reaffirmed. Marta rolled her eyes, clearly uncaring about who was buying what, and fetched the tiny birdcage with the chirping yellow canary inside. The elephant rang them up.

 

“Total’s two hundred fifty,” Marta stated with as little enthusiasm as possible, waiting for the rabbit to produce some form of payment. If Marta was entertained by both of their jaws dropping to the floor, she made no show of it.

 

“You must be kidding!” Judy exclaimed.

 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Marta replied, still looking as disinterested in the exchange as possible.

 

“And I thought I’d seen real highway robbery before,” Nick muttered.

 

“Two hundred fifty, take it or leave it,” Marta said, checking her phone for something more interesting. Two pronghorns entered into the pet store, a mother and her son.

 

“Excuse us,” the mother said, “you wouldn’t happen to be selling any canaries, would you? My boy here asked for one for his birthday and I heard your store has one for sale.”

 

Marta looked at Judy. Who then looked at Nick. Who then groaned and placed his face in his paws. And then reached for his wallet.

 

~

 

A quick talk about the dangers of prejudice to the pronghorns and a hurried walk later, the pair arrived at Chief Bogo’s office with ‘Tweety’ 2.0 in her namesake’s cage. With four minutes to spare.

 

Nick’s stomach growled. “Uggh, wow, I’m not feeling too hot right now. Strange, that, uh, _meal_ went down easy enough.” Despite the clear discomfort he was in, Nick still had it in him to make a joke with a tiny crooked grin. Judy rolled her eyes.

 

The pair knocked and opened the door, smiling from ear to ear. The words flew fast, overlapping and from both Nick and Judy as they placed ‘Tweety’ on Bogo’s desk.

 

“Hey Chief! Here’s your bird! What a bird! Tons of fun bird sitting! Wish I had been there to witness the fun! Can’t do it anymore though! And I can’t either if you’re wondering! Bugs in my apartment! I see why you have this bird! Such a bird! Excuse us!” And both bunny and fox pivoted on their heels and made for the door that hadn’t even swung fully shut.

 

His baritone command froze them both. “Hopps. Wilde.” Both stopped only an inch from the door as it clicked shut, sealing them in. “Sit. Down.”

 

Both had time to grimace before slowly pivoting back with uneasy grins and sitting side by side in the hot seat. The Chief continued filing through his paperwork, not sparing them one glance.

 

Nick’s stomach gurgled audibly. Again.

 

“Stomach pains, Officer Wilde?” Bogo asked without looking up.

 

“Ohhhh you know,” Nick said, trying to disguise the clear state of discomfort bubbling up from his stomach. “Just ate something that disagreed with me.” Judy almost groaned in increasing fear and paranoia at the balls her partner had making such risky jokes. And NOW of all times!

 

“Hmm.” The chief set his paperwork aside and regarded Tweety in her new cage on his desk.

 

Nick and Judy quietly inhaled and their hearts simultaneously stopped. This was it. They were in the clear or they would be running full sprint from their previous place of employment.

 

A small smile, rare to the Chief’s form, dawned on his face. “Ah, there’s my little angel.” The fox and bunny tried to not let out too rattled sounding breaths of relief.

 

_Oh god,_ Judy thought. _He doesn’t see any difference. Sweet Cheese and Crackers we might be in the clear!_

_Oh. My. God. Chief. Really?_ Nick thought. _You don’t see any difference? In your own pet? Well, to be fair, I wouldn’t either. Just a dumb bird. One that happens to move around in a way that makes me want to bat at it. One that smells pretty appetizing. One that happens to taste exceptionally good – NO! No, do NOT think those thoughts here . . . we are not out of the woods yet. Oh god, if the bird was so damn good why is my stomach fighting me so hard on it??_

 

“Didn’t give you any trouble, did she Officer Hopps?” Bogo asked.

 

“Nope!” Judy chirped, feeling increasingly nervous the longer they stayed in the office. “Not at all!”

 

Bogo frowned. “Wait a tick, Tweety looks a little thinner than I remember. She eat at all while at your place, Hopps?”

 

“Uh, sparingly, sir!”

 

Beside her, Nick gagged, bringing up both paws to his muzzle. Bogo and Judy stared at him, one curious and one horrified.

 

_Huh,_ thought Bogo. _Must’ve gotten a bad bug burga._

 

_Oh Sweet Serendipity,_ Judy thought. _He’s going to be sick. Nick’s going to throw up whatever’s left of Bogo’s bird!_

 

Judy jumped up from the chair, grabbing her partner’s arm and dragging him with her. “Well sir, since – uh – Wilde here looks like he’s about to get sick all over your newly scrubbed and vacuumed carpets, I’ll escort him to the bathrooms!”

 

Bogo didn’t have time to dismiss them as the pair dashed out of his office. Not even a dozen feet away, Nick stopped and doubled over.

 

“NO-no-no c’mon Nick,” Judy frantically whispered into his ear, “if you’re gonna be sick in here at least run to the bathroom!”

 

Nick shook his head at Judy, waving her off his body. His face took on a serious, concentrated look.

 

With a small burp, Nick coughed up a singular parcel, something tiny and reflective, covered in a small contrail of spittle and a lone feather. Both watched the item – not any part of a bird that much was certain – bounce on the carpet and come to a stop. Both made out the letters W E E T that wrapped around the outside of whatever it was. Judy thought to herself it almost looked like a tiny engraved ring . . .

 

Then both Judy and Nick heard Bogo say to himself, still in his office, “Tweety, where’s your legband? I thought that pet store said it was impossible to shake off . . . ”

 

Nick quickly scooped up the legband bearing the original Tweety’s name and both he and Judy more or less sped-walked down the stairs and toward the front of the precinct.

 

“Hey guys!” Clawhauser called to them. “Looks like you two are in – ”

 

“In a rush – can’t talk – fill you in later – Sorry Ben!” Nick stringed several sentences into one as he and Judy pushed their way back out of the ZPD, desperate to escape the building and the horrifying possibility that Bogo would figure them out.

 

Outside, Nick deposited Tweety’s legband in the nearest garbage can. Without a word, both of them sat down on the nearest public bench.

 

Their exhaustion settling in, neither spoke as they listened to their city carry on.

 

“Well,” Nick started. “Looks like he bought it.”

 

A pause before she responded. “Yes, looks like he did. You think he’ll stay on that little detail that you just puked up and pitched in the trash?”

 

“Nah,” Nick waved. “You know how finicky tech is these days. I’d give him the day before he forgets about the stupid legband.”

 

“So,” Judy exhaled, “that’s that.”

 

“So that means we are off the hook,” Nick alluded nonchalantly, checking his claws with casual interest.

 

“Ha, yeah, we’re off the hook because our boss, the Chief of Police at Precinct One, actually frickin’ bought it,” Judy affirmed. After a few more moments, both burst into nervous fits of barely restrained laughter.

 

“Holy cow! Haha! Is this what it feels like to pull of a hustle, Nick!?”

 

“Imagine waving around your paycheck right now and all of it being tax free. _That’s_ the feeling of a hustle gone well. But I won’t lie. This is pretty good, too.”

 

“Oh goodness,” Judy tittered, covering her mouth with both paws to hide her open smile. After a moment of thought, her eyes went wide and her ears fell to her back. She turned to Nick with renewed panic on her face.

 

“Oh god Nick, is this how I start my life of crime?! Is this where a bunny lets the city change her into a smart yet gorgeous and compact-sized con artist?!”

 

Nick felt the smile warm his face like the sun and wanted so badly to reach out and rub her ears to soothe her. What a cutie.

 

“You know I wouldn’t tell a soul if you decide to take up some ‘extracurricular’ activities,” he teased.

 

“Nick!” She pleaded with him, still clearly on the train of thought that this was the singular moment where it would all go South, “Is this what we took away from this entire mishap? That you can’t ever be around birds, and that with money, ingenuity, panic – ”

 

“Charm,” Nick added.

 

“Yes, and charm – ”

 

“And my master-caliber hunting skills,” Nick added, again reexamining his claws.

 

Judy rolled her eyes, trying to fight down the smirk. “With all of that, we learned that we _can_ get away with swapping out people’s cherished pets so that we don’t lose our jobs because one of us ate them?”

 

“That’s right! Exceptionally and succinctly put, Carrots,” he praised, flashing a toothy grin and thrilled to see her eyes widen at him. “But that’s all old hat to me. I always knew you had it in you. You do me proud.”

 

She smiled back and knuckle dusted his arm. With just a little more force than normal for landing them in such a spot. “But really Nick? Nothing new to take away from this?”

 

“Alright, I’ll admit there’s one thing,” he conceded, eyes now glancing over the ground.

 

“And that would be . . . ?” she leaned in.

 

“That you never cease to amaze me, Judy Hopps,” he said with a smile. Judy felt the happy warm blush run all the way up her ears and beamed back at him.

 

“That,” Nick continued, “and Tweety would have paired excellently with a raspberry glaze and roasted spaghetti squash. And that legbands for birds make me nauseous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	6. Through the Telescope, from atop Ivory Towers . . . (Unabridged)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of short stories about some of the Original Characters (OC's) introduced and prevalent in the world of the Omnibus. These stories and the events listed here are canonical to the omnibus.  
> I am uploading this under the shorts for 3 reasons:  
> 1\. A place for these stories outside of the Anthology they are a part of, should anything happen to said Anthology.  
> 2\. More content, including another entire character story not included in the original submission, and much, much more relevant dialogue and detail that had to be cut from the final product included in the Anthology.  
> 3\. An important part of the city of Zootopia and of the Omnibus. 
> 
> A tall thank you!!! to DrummerMax for his wonderfully honest critique and feedback, as always, and to Eng050599 for lending me his scientific knowledge bases on the admittedly strange and wonderful effects from the consumption of catnip.

 . . . The city of Zootopia never rests. At night, under the cover of dark, it changes, the carefully maintained fabric of a perfect, harmonious society warping into something a little more truthful, a little more dangerous. If you close your eyes and breath through your nose, you might smell the perfume of drugs, liquor, sweat, sex, spent bullets, and blood. If you hold your breath and listen, you might hear the monsters doing deals in the dark, whispering lies and secrets. And if you dare open your eyes, you might even be unfortunate enough to witness it all.

 

~ The Information Broker ~

 

A male bull named Hector Williams sat outside one of Zootopia’s many watering holes, across from one of the more dangerous locales in one of the more . . . ‘aggressive’ districts. An establishment blithely named ‘The Bar’, a building that was full of whispered secrets and lethal premonitions, an institute where lives and livelihoods were boiled down to who had the most money or the greater leverage. A building that had only a neon sign out front, one that read in crimson font: OPEN DUSK TILL DAWN.

 

The bull felt his temper become dangerously hot just entertaining the thought about the mammal inside he was going to have a ‘talk’ with. Hector cooled himself with a shot of tequila. The waitress walked back out to hand him another shot and lime wedge. The saltshaker sat dutifully on the coffee table next to the bull.

 

The waitress, a young wolf, noticed the bull’s angered stare at The Bar across the street. She thought briefly about saying something, but refrained. Regarding the establishment and its owner in open discussion was never a wise course of action.

 

_Mammals have been killed for far less_ , she thought, pouring the next shot for the bull.

 

Hector stood, grabbing the ingredients for his fourth and final shot. He opened his mouth, threw in a strong dash of salt across his tongue, followed by the shot of tequila. Lastly, he popped in the whole lime wedge and began chewing as he walked across the street.

 

Inside The Bar, several patrons whipped their heads around from their seats and from their conversations at the loud _Bang!_ of the doors being kicked open and seeing a male bull march in, nostrils flaring and eyes pinched in anger.

 

Asking no one in particular, Hector snarled, “ _Where is he_?”

 

Behind the ornate bar counter and in front of shelves of exceptionally expensive liquors, the barkeep, a large flying fox named Renfield, asked in a conversational and exceptionally baritone voice, “You must be Hector Williams.” The flying fox ignored what every other mammal in the room was keenly focused on: the set of silver-plated handguns hanging from Hector’s shoulder straps.

 

Renfield summoned a pre-poured drink and slid the glass on the table towards the livid bull. “On the house, courtesy of Mr. Drac –”

 

“Oh, Fuck you and that little leech! You both think I’m an idiot?!” Hector yelled back, feeling the heat radiate behind his eyes as he swiped the glass off the counter and into the wall with a delicate _Crack!_. As if he was dumb enough to fall for accepting a likely laced drink, conveniently ‘on the house.’

 

“I did _not_ ask for a drink. I asked to see him!” Hector yelled. “Where is that little parasite hiding!?”

 

Despite facing down a bull that was eagerly looking for the first fight he could even barely justify, the flying fox displayed neither panic nor distress. Instead, with one massive wing, he pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “Very well. He is expecting you in his study. Go on ahead.” The bull stormed off to meet the city’s most infamous information broker, a little proud to see every single mammal’s eyes in the room watching him with what was surely amazement.

 

Past the door and down a hall, Hector came to a stop in a small library and in front of a lawyer’s desk, where a tiny bat, dressed in a three-piece fitted suit, stared back. Off to the side of the room stood a female pig dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She had no nametag, and judging by the hollow look in her eyes, not much of a personality or soul to speak of. Hector exhaled heavily, trying to keep his intense rage under control.

 

The broker, a vampire bat named Vladimir Dracul, started the conversation in an unnaturally deep and collected tone. “Hector Williams. You look a little angry.”

 

Hector placed both hooves on either side of the bat and leaned in, their faces inches apart. Vladimir was small enough that even with outstretched wings he would only cover Hector’s nose. “More like pissed beyond measure and disturbed to no end that no mammal had the foresight to exterminate your kind years ago.”

 

“You wound me. Is this really over that little spat with your associate?” Vladimir tilted his head. “Jamie, was it?”

 

“Jamie woke up from a nap to find two of your parasitic brood drinking blood out of his neck.”

 

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Vladimir replied. “I was also made aware that in whatever stupor state Jamie was in, he swatted both Conrad and Dirk like flies, killing both of them. That was yesterday, exactly eighteen hours ago. That leaves us in quite the predicament, Hector. You have yet to attempt making any amends with me.”

 

Hector’s temper reached a dangerously unsafe threshold. Be it the alcohol or his inherent anger or both, he was feeling nothing but weightless fire in his muscles. “Make AMENDS?! With you!? You should be the one ponying up to me, you ungrateful little shit! What kind of mammal still drinks blood from unsuspecting mammals!? And then demands money!?”

 

“Pray tell, why should I be the one paying you?” the bat retorted, his own temper still evenly held.

 

“Two reasons. One, because I know for a fact that you have half of this city in your pocket, which means you have at least half of this city’s money in there as well. I think you can afford to share some with mammals less fortunate, don’t you think?

 

“And two, because with one hoof, I can turn you into a bloody smear on your desk,” Hector hissed. “I’ve had enough of your little ‘spies’ flying around my place. Honestly, I don’t see what there is to be afraid of. Most other mammals around here are happy to go smoke their neighbors and friends, but everyone goes mute when you come up. And I can’t possibly understand why. All I see is an annoyance that should’ve been dealt with too long ago.”

 

Vladimir held the bull’s stare, the larger mammal’s angered breathing actually ruffling the tiny bat’s suit fabric. “I would urge you to _think_ before you _act_. Are you really threatening me, Hector Williams?” Vladimir breathed.

 

“I really am, Vladimir Dracul,” Hector replied. “You’re about to find out that I’m not afraid of a glorified flying mouse with a taste for blood.”

 

Vladimir inhaled deeply, then exhaled, holding Hector’s stare. “That’s a shame. You really should be.”

 

Hector replied. He thought he said, ‘And why’s that?’ But what came out of his mouth was, “Ann whyz zath?” Hector lifted his hooves off the desk in surprise, and in equal surprise, found his balance slipping. He nearly fell backwards on his rear.

 

“Because if you had been wise and played nicely, I would have at least considered selling you an antidote.” Vladimir watched, without a hint of amusement, as the bull teetered on his hooves as the strength to remain balanced drained away.

 

“Have you ever heard of the Dunning-Kruger effect, Hector?” Vladimir calmly asked him.

 

“Whaa – wha havv … ” was what Hector managed in response. The bull realized he couldn’t move his hooves or his mouth. He was now relying solely on his waist and legs to keep himself upright. The vampire bat continued.

 

“Two researchers, the namesakes of the aforementioned bias, coined the term while at Cornell in their research on overconfident idiots. The idea blossomed after reading about a weasel, McArthur Wheeler, who robbed two banks after rubbing lemon juice on his face. Do you know why this weasel Wheeler did so?”

 

Hector didn’t reply; he was trying to focus on not collapsing onto the floor, which now seemed like an imminent possibility.

 

“Of course you don’t,” Vladimir answered for the bull, “I’ll tell you why. Wheeler believed that because lemon juice can be used as invisible ink, the lemon juice would mask his face on surveillance tapes. He thought it was a foolproof plan. Now, I know you’re not a smart bull, evident of your position now, but I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

 

Hector’s leg muscles gave way and the bull fell to the floor and stared at the ceiling. His mind was still operating. How? He hadn’t taken the obviously poisoned drink. So where was this coming from?

 

Why couldn’t he move?

 

“My point being,” Hector heard the vampire bat continue, “moronic mammals are unaware that they are moronic because they are so damn moronic to begin with, and are unable to do anything about it. You, my dear Hector, fully embody the Dunning-Kruger effect because you are completely incapable of realizing why you are the only two-bit criminal to come charging in here. Thinking that you of all mammals in this city, of all the powerful crime syndicates and bosses, has any weight or power to push _me_ around.”

 

Hector noticed something really, really awful. The ceiling was alive, moving and twitching like a wall of muscle. But he also knew that was ridiculous. The ceiling wasn’t alive, and it wasn’t muscle he was staring at. He was staring at a colony of a few hundred bats. All were licking their lips and staring right back down at him.

 

“Information, Hector, is why no one has done to me what you’ve threatened. Cross me and I’ll sell you out to every mammal that wants your head on a platter. And in one of the largest cities on the continent, there are plenty of enemies to keep track of. Mammals continually underestimate the value of facts and rumors. For instance, I know a few rather powerful mammals that are not so happy with that secret little drug lab you’re running out in Happytown. So I sold them the whereabouts of your gang’s little hideout. Considering the odds, I doubt your ‘amigos’ will survive the onslaught headed their way.”

 

One bat dropped from the ceiling and landed next to Vladimir, whispering into his ear. “Hmm, thank you. Pardon the falsehood I’ve just imparted, Hector. Old news and speculation confirmed. All of your business partners are already dead, and that tiny apartment building you had your lab in is burning to the ground as we speak. We all know what kind of neighborhood Happytown is, so I suspect the Fire Department won’t be coming to save the remains.”

 

Now, Hector couldn’t so much as move his mouth, let alone any part of his body. His heart was an avalanche in his ears. He felt spittle run from his open mouth. Hector also felt Vladimir land on the end of his snout, coming eye to eye with the broker. He had been right; the tiny vampire bat’s frame only covered his nose.

 

“Information, Hector Williams, allowed me to know you were sitting outside my establishment for the last half hour, helping yourself to tequila. Tequila that I had laced with a highly diluted solution of deadly nightshade. Not enough to kill you, but more then enough to paralyze your skeletal muscles for the rest of the night.

 

“Before we start, I should preface that no, nightshade is not poisonous to us. Our bodies are amazingly adept at filtering out a myriad of nasty contaminants from blood. And even all of us together won’t bleed you dry. That’s what Lucy will do when we’re all full.” Vlad nodded over to the pig, who held up a needle and several IV bags. She smiled with as much genuine and heartfelt emotion as an abused and abandoned doll.

 

“I normally don’t personally dispose of mammals myself – I leave that to everyone else’s competition – but in this town, if someone’s push comes to shove my interests, I find I must shove back. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here if not for a few examples set straight, like you. It is true that information can only carry one so far, and most of the time, it does the job. Most of the time.” Vladimir leaned further down Hector’s snout.

 

“Sometimes, a little show of force is necessary. I can tell that you’re the kind of mammal with nothing left to lose, so it’s best to nip this in the bud, if you will. For a small-time wannabe dealer like you, my acquaintances and I will make an exception. I lose nothing by taking you off the board. In fact, no one loses, except you. You should’ve stayed in your hole, making cheap meth for the dregs in this city. At least there, someone would have given a damn about your wellbeing. Maybe. But up here? In the big leagues? Not one mammal in this city will miss you.” Vlad leaned in and smiled.

 

Hector’s heart was now hammering away in his ears and at his sanity. He wanted to scream so terribly but could only work his tongue. It writhed in his skull like a worm on hot asphalt.

 

“Besides, it’s not every day that we get to drink a bull hopped up on tequila and nightshade. We’re all very thirsty.”

 

And with that, Vladimir leaned over and bit into Hector’s lip, and the dark mass of the colony fell from the ceiling and onto the bull. They completely covered him, sawing away at clothing and fur to get to the plump veins circling under his skin. A few younger bats began crawling into Hector’s open mouth, looking for the softest flesh to open.

 

At the bar counter, Renfield listened after a bout of silence from Vladimir’s study. The flying fox grinned at recognizing the sounds now drifting to his ears. The fevered and almost desperate sounds of chewing, suckling, and swallowing from many hungry mouths.

 

~ The Black Hat ~

 

Mara Brisbane, a female caracal, stared at one of many computer screens in the dim glow of her apartment in nothing but a tank top. Surrounding her, serving as actual walls themselves, were shelves upon shelves of computer towers, modems, routers, screens, and speakers. Connecting most of her elaborate setup was an intricate nervous system of blue, red, black, and white wires.

 

Mara was in dire need of money. Money to eat, money to drink, money to pay off the bills, money for new things, money to keep on keeping on. And mostly, money to live comfortably. To invest with. To have a nest egg as a legally viable and constant source of security should her life unexpectedly fall apart.

 

In her line of work, the possibility that she would suddenly have warrants out for her arrest was a very likely possibility.

 

It was fun and all buying and selling credit card information, but such a game was only high stakes with medium rewards (at best). She was honestly exhausted, both mentally and a little emotionally burned out, at using helpless, innocent others’ gains for her own. And it wasn’t making her any real, livable money. Mostly that. So she had opted for an even more high risk, very high rewards gamble.

 

The caracal had a half legal, half illegal plan currently in play to secure herself financially for the near foreseeable future.

 

The legal half of her plan involved trading legally acquired stock at pure alpha.

 

The illegal other half of the plan involved selling black market information to a group of hackers and turning a certain software company over to the media. And that the company may not survive the ensuing fallout. She was actually hoping it wouldn’t.

 

Mara turned her attention over to the heating coil where a bong currently sat. The device’s function was to steam water that was heavily laced with finely ground catnip. If you were gonna get high, why not get the most bang for your buck and inhale as much as you could get?

 

_Like cocaine and weed had a beautiful, manic-depressive baby_ , she thought, setting the metal-bottomed bong on the heating element. In a few minutes, a cloud of catnip mist would be sitting at the top of the capped bong just waiting for inhalation, then either purely ecstatic or relaxing bliss. As to which effect would come first, or stay longer over the duration of the high, she was always unsure, but always happy with whatever face that particular coin toss landed on.

 

_Sloth or Rabbit,_ Mara thought. _Sloth or Rabbit._

Her plan originated weeks ago when she was ‘investigating’ the structure of one company’s information servers, Mesa Computing Solutions. Mesa claimed that the security for their servers and data storage farms were airtight, which was what everyone storing their information – passwords, credit cards, social security numbers, and other bits notwithstanding – wanted to hear.

 

Mara had discovered an exploit, a ‘zero day’, a security breach that as far as she could tell, no one knew about. Except her. So, no, Mesa’s server’s were not airtight.

 

From there, with her zero day bargaining chip, Mara thought out a relatively secure and (partially) legal plan to net her a lot of money. Years previous to this, Mara had bought shares from a new start up company that no one had paid much attention to: Aperture Software. The tiny firm went public with what little, cheap stock it had, and Mara bought plenty of stock from them at 7.50 per share.

 

But more on that part of her plan later. For now, her bargaining chip.

 

Mara was waiting on her zero day buyer, another hacker that was very much interested in thousands of mammals’ credit card information, to confirm that he had successfully utilized the exploit against Mesa. When he did so, (because even a script kitten could fuckin’ do it, it was so easy), several things would happen in quick succession.

 

One, Mara would receive several customized notifications indicating a flurry of sales and exchanges of personal information across other hackers and their respective parties. Not what she was interested in.

 

Two, an ‘anonymous’ tip would be sent via timer by a certain caracal with money on the mind. It would go to all major news outlets, informing them that Mesa Computing had a critical software exploit that had enabled the theft of many, many mammals’ valuable personal information. And said theft was happening right about now.

 

Three, early tomorrow morning her ace in the hole should be ready. But then was strictly time dependent. And at only 7:30 PM, she had an entire night’s time to kill.

 

Her distraction to help appropriately kill the time away walked into her room, also naked, also caracal, but male. Joel . . . Salmost? Salmodt? One of those – was the pick up for the evening . . . waltzed into her room, feigning interest in the walls of electronics. But really, he was actually only interested in her. Joel liked his sex to be a little rough. Mara was in the mood for rough.

 

“So this is what you’ve got in here, huh? Didn’t know you were into computers,” he said, pretending to admire the rows and stacks of towers and wires, “Neat.” Mara could clearly see his reflection in one of the computer monitor’s screens, including seeing his growing length on its way out from his sheath. His ‘neat’ comment was delivered not when he was looking at modems, but at her bare rear.

 

Mara grinned and stood up, tail beginning to wag above her bare bottom. “I like to think so,” she agreed with him. “Although I am getting a little bored in here.” Mara pushed her rear out and held her tail up. Joel issued a small growl and placed one paw on one of her cheeks, spreading her and admiring the obscene and direct view of her pussy and asshole.

 

The hot and heady scent of her sex reached his nose. “I know something fun we can do,” he growled to her. He now had both of her cheeks in his paws, kneading them in desperate want. Leaning over her shoulder, Joel nodded to the bong, a cloudy mist forming in the top bulb.

 

“Feeling adventurous as well as frisky, are we?” he questioned her.

 

“You already know the answer to that question. Want a hit?”

 

“Hmm. Rabbits or sloths, ‘pending what we taste. Why not? Don’t bitch if I draw sloth, though.”

 

Mara reached over, taking the bong off the element and removed the cap, adding a smaller nozzle to the lid to cool the catnip-laced mist. Mara took the first inhale, making sure not to draw the hit into her lungs but to keep the nip against the roof of her mouth, directly in contact with the bottom side of her Jacobson organ. After holding for several seconds, she exhaled the mist out through her nose, across the top of the same olfactory organ. Double dipping in one hit. Joel follow suit.

 

The onset of effects was fast. Each felt the electrical charge of adrenaline hit like a freight train. Each of their bodies went ramrod straight up.

 

‘Rabbit’ it was. For both of them.

 

Mara more ran than walked to her bed, the accelerated perception of her surroundings making her feel like she had gained the speed of a cheetah. The world felt lighter. Mara felt lighter. Faster than normal. Felt more attuned to everything happening around her, like the male caracal that had sprinted after her and roughly tackled her onto the frameless mattress with a single pillow and sheet she called a bed.

 

The sex wasn’t going to drip with romance or sweet and heartfelt whispers. It was going to sting a little by way of claws and teeth; it would be fast and unrelenting, and they would absolutely not say ‘I love you’ in that context.

 

The word ‘love’ would maybe be used as a descriptive only. If either was feeling sappy enough.

 

Joel grabbed the back of Mara’s neck to control her head and planted a hard kiss on her. Their teeth clacked together, their tongues more intent on driving the dominant force in their dance, and Joel’s paws grabbled with her arms. Mara fought back, but nowhere near enough to assert that she was finished with the contact.

 

Just enough to make him moan, to make him growl in frustration at her lack of cooperation and teasing engagement.

 

Joel finally corralled her arms and pinned them at her sides. Underneath him, Mara’s body squirmed with a fluid ease, legs opening and locking back together to keep his member from finding her. The smell of her sex began to fill Joel’s head. It made him salivate and only further enlivened him.

 

_“Hold . . . Still . . .”_

 

Mara propelled her head up to meet his, pupils unnaturally dilated, still riding the adrenaline soaked high.

 

“ _Make. Me_.” Mara hissed through a manic and (only slightly) desperate smile.

 

So Joel did. He threw himself to her side, putting one paw under her waist, and in one full bodied twist, spun Mara around so that she was face down, ass up with him still on top of her.

 

At this point, the sore ache nestled deep in her sex outweighed the desire to continue being coy with him, so Mara lifted her tail up in hopes that the direct sight and smell of her sex (and maybe the euphoria of the catnip) would erase any desire Joel had to hold out by means of payback.

 

One longing, drug-fueled look at her dripping sex and the desire to tease back was gone. Instead, Joel took one long and relatively controlled drag across her whole end, licking from her clit up to the top of her anus.

 

Mara’s resulting gasp and squeal at the sudden, wet, and hot sensation against her was a little more girly than she would’ve like to admit or repeat, but it was one and done. When she tried to bring her head up, a paw pressed against the back of her shoulders, forcing her top end back into the pillow.

 

The moment the head of Joel’s cock found that barely parted opening of Mara’s pussy, he used his free paw to pull back on her waist, burying the entirety of his length in her in one thrust.

 

“Oh Yes! Yes!! Oh thank god, thank GOD,” Mara exhaled at feeling his organ stretch her out, at feeling the blooming pleasure begin to radiate out from her pelvic floor and into her legs and head. With each thrust, with each iteration of Joel’s cock entering then exiting her body, their speed quickly increased, building on the rapidly growing momentum of their impending orgasms.

 

Her moment of clarity was arriving quicker than his, helped along by repetitive smacks of Joel’s balls against her now swollen clit, feeling his now well lubricated length pummeling in and out of her welcoming body. To push herself over that forever desired cliff, and to do so strongly thanks to the mental interference of the catnip’s compulsive edge, she begged.

 

“P-please – Bi – bite . . . me,” Mara begged, claws beginning to tear into the fabric of her bed. “Shoulder! Bite – oh fuck! – me! Bite Shoulder!!”

 

Joel only quickened his pace at hearing her frantic pleading, clear ropes of fluid beginning to drip and run out of the edges of Mara’s pussy from the change in speed and force. Wet stains began darkening across her blanket underneath them. The hot and saline scent of sex was now present for them both with every inhale.

 

Mara, without much consideration, decided it was time to just coax Joel into giving her that much needed push. Even if the plan was already known of who’d be finishing where, the effect of verbalizing the command did the trick.

 

“Hnngh J-joel,” Mara panted, turning her head, panting hard enough that a line of clear drool had started to run down from the corner of her mouth, “Bite me . . . and I’ll l-let you cum in – hhhnnggh – in me.”

 

Gunpowder? Meet spark.

 

Joel immediately threw himself down onto her back, covering her body with his, and took a mouth full of her neck and bit down. Not hard enough to break the skin or grab ahold of bone, but plenty to send red hot embers of burning pleasure across her neck, down her back, through her butt, and into her vulva and clit.

 

“Oh God oh god oh goddd damnittt!! F-Fuck!! ” The rest of Mara’s scream of ecstasy went beyond the English language. Joel twisted the mouthful of her skin in his mouth, using it as grappling leverage to push every bit of his length as far into her convulsing pussy, as far as her body would allow him. His balls clenched as ropes of cum were thrown into her. All four of her paws dug into the mattress, her claws even tearing cuts across the fabric and harshly plucking the springs as her limbs traveled outwards from her body in a loose star shape.

 

Through the next minute, the only noticeable sounds were their high-pitched whines and occasional gasps as aftershocks rolled through them. After that, the two caracals fell into a pile together, not at all from wanting to cuddle afterwards, but because the follow-up effect to catnip, ‘sloth’, was imminent more often than not. Within minutes, sleep took them.

 

At 9:48 AM, hours and hours after their tryst, Mara sprung awake, rolled Joel off her, who did nothing to protest, and ran to her computers.

 

She pulled up NASDAQ, all major news outlets’ websites, and a notepad. The timer to send out the message had gone off as planned. She began taking notes of last night’s happenings.

 

With each passing minute, with each note of her plan receiving the desired check mark, and her heart beginning to beat very loudly in her ears, Mara came upon the last two crucial bits of information.

 

Mesa Computing’s stock prices had taken a beautifully suicidal nosedive into the red.

 

Mara actually stumbled over her own fingers getting to look at Aperture’s stock prices.

 

Her jaw dropped. It worked. It fuckin’ worked!

 

Mara screamed in pure joy, the feeling pouring through her a world better than the orgasm she had just recently earned the night before. She had just made a whole lot of money.

 

To reiterate, her plan revolved around the stock price of Mesa’s plummeting after the media, and subsequently, the shareholders, got wind of the exploit and the subsequent security breach. One of Mesa’s more prominent competitors in its niche market, Aperture Software, took up the slack. They took up almost all of the slack.

 

One of the basic laws of the stock market had been true. If, in a niche, your competition sinks, you rise.

 

Mara’s initial purchase of Aperture stock had undergone a drastic increase in price per unit overnight. Her purchase from years ago, on the whim of chance, had gone from totaling roughly $20,000 to just over $150,000. In one night. And it was only 10 AM.

 

She heard the other caracal saunter up behind her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What the fuck are you screaming about?”

 

Mara couldn’t contain her excitement. “Get your clothes! I’ll tell you on the way out!” Joel gave her an odd look, but complied.

 

Mostly dressed, they began walking out of her apartment. “So, you gonna cue me in on the big secret?” he asked.

 

Mara, still sensible enough to maintain some of her privacy, only gave him the half-truth. “This pretty little caracal just made a shit ton of money!”

 

Joel’s eyes lit up, the drowsiness from his features vanishing. “Oh Nice! How much did we make?”

 

_We . . . ?_

 

Mara’s ears and tufts went against the back of her head and her smile vanished. She originally just wanted him gone, but had also suspected he’d try and pull some stupid shit like this, and was happy to have Joel in the hallway looking in. All that was separating them was a currently open door.

 

“Oh,” she started, lightly mocking care in her voice, “Sweetheart, no. I – meaning me, myself, and I – made a lot of money. You just got laid and high. That’s it.”

 

Joel looked genuinely offended. “You’re kidding, right? You’re not going to split it with me?”

 

Her patience thinned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re not in any real sort of relationship, are we, Joel? ‘Fuck buddies, at best’ . . . your words, not mine. And I’m fine with that, but that’s not a real relationship to take stock in, yeah?”

 

His eyes scanned back and forth, worry starting to cover his face. “Y-yeah?”

 

Mara smiled. “Yeah, I agree. I mean, all things considered, we’re not even real friends, if we’re being perfectly honest. And to continue being honest with you, I don’t see why you deserve a cent of what I’ve earned,” she finished for him, “I’ll see you around, Joel. Thanks for answering my booty call!” The next moment, both caracals were staring at opposite sides of a door, one thoroughly pissed off, the other completely delighted.

 

_Well,_ Mara thought to herself, dialing the PCA she used, _the taxes will suck, but that’s probably the cleanest lump sum I’ve ever made. And also a fucking great haul. I should consider playing the market more often._

 

~ The Witch Doctor ~

 

_It’ll be worth it. The money will make life better. The money will be worth it. It’ll be one hell of a payday, and it will all be worth it._

 

A pack of wild dogs surrounded a faded orange shipping container, sitting in the maze of the Packard Distribution Facility, an admittedly gargantuan storage and distribution hub where tractor-trailers, trains, and aircraft shuttled large shipping containers in and out of the city. Their pack leader, a male named Jacoste, took a hard inhale on the last of his cigarettes at seeing two large and expensive looking vehicles appear from the rows of shipping containers. As much as he hated doing business on the landing spot, he would rather risk it here than anywhere else. Here, at night and with greased palms, mammals miraculously became blind to certain events.

 

Here, gunshots would be amplified against the labyrinth of metal containers, acting as pseudo sound amplifiers. So hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

 

“And that’s showtime, lads,” Jacoste growled in a heavy South Afurcan accent to his pack. “Let me do all the talkin’. Be cordial. No snickerin’ or whimperin’. This lot doesn’t have a lit fuse on their tempers, but I know you’ve all heard the horror stories bout their boss. I assure you the reality is worse than whatever you’ve heard. So no remarks or mishaps and we all make a few pennies. Clear?” All of the other wild dogs nodded their heads in understanding.

 

Jacoste exhaled, standing a little taller and forcing his tail to remain out and not tucked between his legs. He had done business smuggling a whole manner of things in and out of the city with many mammals. It was his trade, and he was pretty damn good at it. You needed something, Jacoste could probably get it. He had some rules he tried to continually abide by; goods and services he was simply ‘unable’ to provide, as far as businesses went. Underage mammals from the sex and slavery trades, for instance. He never seemed to be able to ‘locate those.’ And _this_ thankfully wasn’t that.

 

But _this_? _This_ pushed the moral envelope he desperately wanted to maintain, desperately needed to maintain for sleep to come without too many nightmares. It easily pushed the limit on whatever moral ‘code’ Jacoste tried to keep, in regards to both goods and clientele.

 

_‘Code’ doesn’t really matter now, does it?_ Jacoste thought. _It all comes back to the dollar. And that, not code, is what really matters._

 

The vehicles pulled up in front of them, headlights blinding against the black of night. The sounds of doors opening penetrated the tense air, followed by gentle footfalls on the partially intact/partially knocked apart blacktop.

 

Tall, skeletal creatures emerged. Maned wolves, all part of a criminal outfit referred to by the abbreviation ‘C.C.’ Jacoste knew what that actually stood for, as well as the horribly gimmicky ‘street’ name local thugs too stupid to keep their maws shut said C.C. stood for. Yet it stuck across all circles that knew about them. Catchy names have a funny way of sticking.

 

Jacoste also heard the leader of C.C. thought the gimmicky name was something ‘funny’. Probably told the poor son of a bitch who voiced the new definition just how ‘funny’ it was while castrating him. Yet the catchy title persisted. Perhaps with the leader’s ceremonious blessing.

 

One maned wolf approached Jacoste in their telltale, purposefully slow and wide gait. She wore a double-breasted, navy pea coat and rectangular frames on her face and looked like the kind of mammal who had probably never even heard of a smile. She had cool, calculating eyes. Admittedly beautiful, in a dark way.

 

“You must be our buyer,” Jacoste stated in way of an opener.

 

“Where is the order?” The female maned wolf asked, eyes scanning over the other wild dogs who returned her gaze.

 

“Where’s our payment?” Jacoste felt something turn in his stomach at seeing both of her empty paws. Perhaps the answer to his question.

 

“Payment will be distributed upon confirming that you have everything we have ordered,” she answered. She both looked and sounded unamused. Jacoste thought about asking for her name, but that would mean one more sentence, one more interaction necessary than he’d like to share in these kinds of things.

 

“Alright,” Jacoste said. He issued a quick bark to his pack. “Get out their shipment.” His pack obeyed, opening the rusted doors of the shipping container they stood diligently around. Some of the product intended for someone else fell to the ground. Spuds, some sprouting green and white flowering parts. And of course the retched smell. Good for covering up more concerning scents like oil and gunpowder.

 

A few dogs began digging through the potatoes, summoning up smaller metal containers buried only a foot or so into the shipment of produce. In a few minutes, several were in an ordered line on the ground. Jacoste went and opened each one.

 

“Five shipments of HK416 automatic rifles chambering 5.56, fifty total,” Jacoste started, prying off lids with a crowbar and counting each weapon. The female maned wolf kept a slow and even pace with him, visually examining each weapon.

 

“One shipment of Benelli M4 semi-auto 12 gauge shotguns,” Jacoste said. “Suppressors for each. That’s five and five even. Lastly. . .”

 

Jacoste and the maned wolf stopped at a singular case that was both larger and longer than all the rest. Jacoste pried the lid off, looked at its contents, and swallowed.

 

The rifles and shotguns he got. Well, as much as a smuggler could get why a crime lord –

 

_That’s putting it politely. More like a bona fide warlord._

 

– wanted them. But other mammals, other outfits, including the police and ZIA, had similar arms. Competition to keep this one, this ‘Witch Doctor’, in check. But Jacoste strongly doubted that anyone else in the city owned something like this. And that drastic inequality in power was a little more than unsettling.

 

“And one Barrett M82 .50 caliber anti-material weapon system,” he breathed. The word ‘anti-material’ and what it implied made him sick to his stomach. Not ‘armor piercing.’ Not ‘incendiary.’ Just anti-material. Anti everything unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end. More than enough to even drop an elephant.

 

Jacoste nodded to seven other crates. “And all the ammunition and magazines for each and every toy.”

 

All heard a car door click open. Jacoste identified the particular mammal and actually sighed in partial resignation at seeing the titular Witch Doctor stride out from the car and walk over to the female maned wolf and wild dog.

 

_A monster with many names_ , Jacoste thought. _And I don’t know which to call him. ‘Personne’ is what some used to call him. A French word, if I remember right, and the only real name that monster has ever had. Translates to . . . oh, what was it? No one? No Face? Nobody? Something like that. Eccentric sociopath certainly fits. Has a cane but clearly walks like he doesn’t need one. But he’d be the mammal to call someone else ‘eccentric’ after he took away a limb and some teeth. Probably think that would be ‘funny’, too._

 

“That’s everything,” Jacoste said as the top hat-wearing maned wolf calmly strode over and began inspecting each box. Their leader dressed in Haitian shaman attire. Dress clothes, the plain buttons on his coat replaced with decorative and intricate cuffs, well worn and faded from light and constant use. His top hat was adorned with a crimson band of ribbon, which held down three different birds’ skulls center most and facing forward, several rooster feathers cocked off to the right side, and a small vial containing an unknown fluid on the left side. The base of the hat was fitted with a metal link belt, the means to secure his adornments. The maned wolf wore a white open button-down underneath his pea coat, both of which were elongated to fit the stretched proportions of the long bodied mammal. What looked like smears of chalk were adorned over the black coat; the shadows of old bones painted onto him to be carried out under the moonlight.

 

The Witch Doctor stopped in front of the Barrett. He didn’t move and his tail ceased the slow wagging speed it had previously been set at. Relative silence. The pungent and powerful stench of maned wolf in the air and the admittedly scared scent coming from Jacoste’s pack.

 

Jacoste’s question to the crime lord felt like throwing up a stone. “Everythin’ alright?”

 

“What violent delights,” the Witch Doctor purred. “For such violent ends.”

 

He turned to Jacoste and smiled with all of his teeth. The fear of a far more imposing predator, worse from the predator that towered over him, made all the hairs on Jacoste go on end. Jacoste consciously suppressed his hackles from bristling up and forced the words out.

 

“You’ll find everythin’s as ya requested. Full automatic selectors on the rifles. Suppressors for the shotty’s. And the targetin’ computer for the Barrett’s scope.” _For accurately blowing apart any mammal or several from more than a mile away_ , Jacoste added to his mental sales pitch. “The Barrett’s scope ain’t sighted, though.”

 

The Witch Doctor smiled wider. “That is alright. I happen to have a volunteer who will be helping zero it in and testing it. There are some lovely pastures outside of the city limits. Fields of flowing grain. Wide open knolls to run freely in.” Another stone of fear, hot and sickly, dropped into Jacoste’s stomach.

 

“Have _you_ tested any of them?” The Witch Doctor asked. “Do you know, for a fact, that they all fire as advertised?”

 

“None of my crew nor I have touched em till right now. But, my contact is reputable. Got em from across the pond. Funny thing, with all those wars and plagues and famines . . . things tend to get disorganized. Shuffled about. Lost in translation. Things tend to go missin’. But, to the best of my knowledge, everythin’ here should be ‘as advertised’.”

 

The Witch Doctor’s smile vanished. “You would not ever dare lie to me . . . would you, Jacoste?”

 

Jacoste felt like throwing up, and answered truthfully. He just had to get through this. It would be worth it if they could just get through this deal. “No. I wouldn’t dare.” A pause in the conversation. The Witch Doctor took long and slow steps towards the wild dog, who was trying as hard as he could to not take equal steps in reverse. The maned wolf stopped a foot from him. Jacoste had to look almost directly up at his face.

 

The Witch Doctor waved forward with two fingers over his shoulder. Another maned wolf came forward, holding a large briefcase. The maned wolf with glasses, the female, took it and handed it to Jacoste. Other members of C.C. began walking over and taking the weapons crates to the cars.

 

Jacoste opened the case to find himself staring at dollar bills. Many, many dollar bills.

 

“Your compensation for successful and complete delivery of our order,” the female with glasses said, pulling out a tablet and typing away. “One hundred and seventy five thousand is your payment.”

 

Jacoste stared at the money for a length of indiscernible time – he and his pack’s payday – until he felt a stare burning into him from above. He looked up to see the Witch Doctor observing him. The look, for a horrifying moment, was annoyed. Angered. And then it vanished behind a face of curiosity.

 

“Have you ever seen, with your own eyes, a crocodile?” the Witch Doctor asked Jacoste.

 

“No.”

 

“Neither have I,” the Witch Doctor replied. “But a childhood friend did. Right when he looked into the river we played in as kits. Right as he was panning around in the mud, hopeful for a nugget of gold that river was rumored to hold. I was right next to him, closer than you and I are right now, and I never even heard the scream. Just felt the wave of water that fell over me from the attack. Then seeing him gone, and the water settle. I remember thinking how quiet it all was. So still. It was so - how do you say – qu’est-ce que c’est . . .?” He waved his skeletal fingers in the air, searching for the right word in English.

 

It arrived with a snap of his fingers. “Ah. It was so _calculated_. So very . . . _exact_. I appreciate when something is ‘exact’. That crocodile that took my friend was the living embodiment of ‘exact’, as you have been with getting what I want. I also recall thinking how thankful I was to have had my friend there to be the crocodile’s interest.” The Witch Doctor leaned over and in to Jacoste. That awful look, the one that spoke of impending violence, was painted back over the maned wolf’s face.

 

Jacoste stared up at the monster with many titles. He worked his jaw, desperate for words.

 

_Why – why are you –_

 

The Witch Doctor leaned further in, lips peeling back, ears depressing, a monstrous look in his eyes. He smelled like blood, sweat, and cannabis. “Be wary of your environment. Be aware of what Nature gives you. And know how much or how little luck favors you.

 

“And lastly, remember to say _thank you_ ,” he growled.

 

Jacoste went numb. He looked at the briefcase full of money and back at the maned wolf. A thank you. The Witch Doctor was demanding a ‘thank you’ from Jacoste for the transaction.

 

In a small voice, Jacoste breathed back, “. . . Thank you.”

 

Like flipping a switch, the Witch Doctor’s face snapped into a different syntax. His ears shot back up, a smile popped across his muzzle, and his eyes seemed to light up in glee. The angry violence vanished. Mostly.

 

“And to you too, for the good business,” he told Jacoste as he sauntered back to his car with the other wolves.

 

The moment C.C. left in their expensive cars, Jacoste’s pack surrounded him, all wearing excited expressions for their payout. He heard them all, heard how they were going to ‘live a little’, how they were going to finally upgrade, how they would buy better food, find better living areas, pay off medical and credit card bills, finally buy nice things for their kits and loved ones. How, if not for just a little, it would be better. None noticed Jacoste’s empty stare at the cars, and none of them asked why he was staring off.

 

_Pipedreams_ , Jacoste thought, because before they all knew it, all of the money would run out, and they’d be back doing another terrible deal like this. Maybe something with higher stakes. Maybe something worth a bigger payday. Maybe something with more terrible consequences.

 

Like the poor mammal Jacoste just saw illuminated in the back seat of the Witch Doctor’s car. Some type of cat by the face and muzzle. Still alive, thrashing around, bound, gagged, and missing parts of his or her face. Like one entire ear. Likely the volunteer to help zero in that new antimaterial rifle.

 

_Can’t have that new scope be off-centered. I now know that this ‘Personne’ likes things to be ‘exact’, after all._

 

Maybe, their future held a job for them with a bigger payday and consequences as horrible as that.

 

But for now, payday.

 

~ The Contract Killer ~

 

Not all rodents in Zootopia live in Little Rodentia. In fact, a large majority resides outside of the upscale, rodent-exclusive neighborhood and instead cohabitates throughout the rest of the city. Such was the case for one Mr. Joey Valachini, a grey mouse who, unbeknownst to most, was going to trial as a key witness against one of the more powerful crime bosses in the city: Mr. Big.

 

Joey Valachini thought that it would be worth mentioning to the police that he had seen a hit take place. Joey Valachini thought that Mr. Big had no idea that he was going to snitch. Joey Valachini was dead wrong. Mr. Big had heard the scuttlebutt from a certain vampire bat, and had hired someone to reiterate to all worth telling just how wrong Joey was to cross The Big Family. So Mr. Big hired a contract killer, an ocelot named Raymond Strauss, to set Joey Valachini up for a fatal ‘accident’. _Whatever works_ , the shrew told the ocelot. _Just make sure it looks more like an ‘accident’ than ‘murder’._

 

Raymond enjoyed making things look like accidents. A great source of pride in his profession. Raymond Strauss had an idea for an accident for Joey in mind. And that idea started with the Yellow Pages.

 

The ocelot watched Joey enter his small apartment that was built into the outside front face of a much larger condominium. A hole in the wall that was a home for a mouse, and a residence that had only two points of entry into the small rodent’s abode Raymond had deduced in a chat with the landlord from a few days earlier.

 

“So you’d like to rent from us, Mr. . . ?” The landlord inquired.

 

“Parsons, Anton Parsons,” Raymond replied. “Although, I do have a question about the rodents living here.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

Raymond leaned in, as if to divulge a secret. “You see, at one of my previous residences, the landlord allowed rodents to cohabitate as well. Now, I’m not being speciest in saying that I don’t want to live in the same complex with rodents, but there was a serious problem with them specifically living in the building.”

 

The landlord, a pangolin with spectacles, squinted. “And what was that?”

 

Raymond rolled his shoulders, as if uncomfortable about the topic. “The housing for the rodents allowed them access into the structural foundation of the building itself. So from their apartments, some of the rodent tenants were cutting through the thin plaster walls to run around the maintenance and structural interiors, climbing on wires and beams and moving between other tenants’ apartments.” He sighed. “And there were several instances of rodents spying on and filming mammals in their ‘private affairs’ and blackmailing them.”

 

The pangolin reeled back. “Oh my Lord. . .”

 

The ocelot put on a pained smile, one practiced in the mirror for hours. “Mhmm. Hence why I am curious about your rodent tenants and their living arrangements.”

 

“Well, you won’t need to worry. All of the walls for each apartment are brick laid. I’ve heard no accusations or even rumors of our smaller clientele burrowing through the walls in this building.” The pangolin leaned back in his chair. “Hell, only way a mouse could go in and out is either through the front door or the chimney.”

 

Raymond laughed because it was the socially polite thing to do at a comment like that. The pangolin smiled back and said, “So, are you still interested?”

 

“I’ll be in touch,” Raymond replied. He thought about that empty little promise as he watched Joey the mouse enter his apartment from across the street where Raymond was pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

 

And now, the ocelot crossed the street, dressed in an acquired postal worker’s uniform and gloves, tossing out newspapers and far heavier items. Like the newly updated Yellow Pages. Raymond made sure to go down the entire length of the block, keeping his head to the ground. One toss summoned a mammal who had been waiting for the morning mail, an old hippo in a well loved bathrobe and wearing coke bottle lenses. The hippo seemed like the old fashioned type that enjoyed a less modern morning routine, including hand delivered mail and publicly listed phone addresses.

 

“Thanks!” the hippo called out after picking up his newspaper and phone book. Raymond heard the hippo mutter to himself in a satisfied tone, “Thank God for the Yellow Pages.”

 

A well-timed yet gentle toss put one directly in front of the small front and only door of Joey Valachini’s apartment. Raymond made sure to discreetly and securely set the medium mammal-sized text directly against Joey’s door as he walked past. The book was even taller than the door. One of two contained. No way a mouse could even budge the text. And all it would look like was a poorly timed and careless mailman’s toss. A careless mistake. What would later be called an accident.

 

Raymond hugged the corner of the apartment building and went directly to the pre-located, comically small chimney that jutted out from the brick foundation. The ocelot scanned back and forth. No onlookers on the streets this early. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a glass tube with a very starved and very hungry occupant.

 

Larger ‘exotic pets’ were extremely hard to locate in the city on account of most of them being illegal to purchase, possess, transport, or sell. Especially carnivorous ones that preyed upon smaller mammals. Like the foot-long giant centipede angrily and hungrily biting at the plastic lid to escape its confines. To any mammal but a mouse, an excruciatingly painful bite and a terrible temper. To a rodent like Joey . . . a hungry predator that did not evolve a bargaining conscious nor the ability to eat alternatives.

 

Raymond leaned in and put an ear in front of the chimney. He listened, and heard the tiny footsteps of a mouse moving about his apartment. Heard him curse as his seeds burned in the toaster. Heard the mouse pour himself some coffee.

 

Raymond unscrewed the lid containing the voracious insect and immediately pressed the tube to the chimney. _The weight of the bug should break past the flue_ , he reasoned. The centipede didn’t scurry out of the tube right away. Instead, it oriented itself head towards the chimney’s entrance. Its antenna twitched. Picked up the lingering scent of mouse wafting up from the chimney. The ocelot watched the centipede hurriedly exit the tube and disappear into the chimney, long antenna oscillating in slow waves, blindly feeling the walls of the entrance and further in.

 

The moment the centipede fully slipped into the chimney, Raymond resumed putting his ear to the impromptu entrance and listened. Whether the chimney flue did not hold or Joey had simply left it opened, Raymond heard many legs empty at the fireplace and begin drumming around the apartment’s floor.

 

The ocelot listened. He heard a mouse go quiet. He heard many, many legs. Many segmented, chitin joints gently clicking together as the rope-like body crawled across hardwood flooring.

 

Raymond then heard, “Oh . . . oh God . . . Oh God Jesus What the Fuck OH GOD!” Then the screaming, running, many, many legs moving quickly. Furniture knocked over. Glass breaking. The door repeatedly slamming into something too heavy to move. “Open! Shit! OPEN!!” A brief pause of silence.

 

And then came the _real_ screaming. The screaming beyond the formation of words. The screaming of someone being stabbed, impaled with large incisors, injected with tissue and organ dissolving venom. The screaming of a mammal that was beyond frightened, because he knew, on some primordial level, that he was going to be eaten.

 

Raymond silently wished that he had visual confirmation that Joey was out of the game, but would have to settle on what sounded like a mouse alternating between coughing and throwing up blood and the beginning of his dissolving organs.

 

The ocelot would have to take it. Therefore, it was done.

 

Raymond moved back onto the street. A few mammals were walking to work now, all too absorbed in their coffees or sleep-addled minds to notice him. Or to notice the Yellow Pages distributed to every door, big and small, at every mailing address, including the one that just happened to land in front of the address for Joey Valachini. A careless mistake. An accident waiting to happen. Insects just have a funny way of getting into places they shouldn’t be, you know?

 

Who knew, maybe in a few days someone would come along and notice whatever remained of Joey. If there was anything left. The ‘pet supplier’ who sold Raymond the centipede told him that giant centipedes were ravenous eaters, and left not one part to waste.

 

The ocelot walked away from the apartment and into the morning light, his job successfully completed, his contract fulfilled.

 

_Thank God for the Yellow Pages, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! And to those waiting for an update on Entr'acte as of March, the update should be here within the next few days! :)


	7. Try Everything; Try Carnivory (Avivore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A darker and more intimate continuation of the themes and events from the short story of Chapter 1 (Try Everything; Try Carnivory), where Nick tempts Judy into trying a more daring and involved delicacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread and edited by the incredible DrummerMax!

Judy Hopps loved how Savannah Central had an outdoor farmer’s market, several no less, that catered to so many different species and flavor palates. It certainly made shopping for ingredients incredibly easy. Most of the markets in the city had enough similar attributes that reminded her of similar stands and shops from Bunnyburrow. But the ones across Savannah Central had more varied items, for more refined and broad tastes.

 

Judy was grocery shopping. She had a dinner date with the one and only Nick Wilde tonight. And according to him, it was an extremely special occasion. A predatorial delicacy that was only prepared at family dinner tables, a recipe passed on through generations, one never discussed openly with prey mammals. One Nick said he had only ever shared once with his mother. Something he wanted desperately to share with Judy and only Judy. When she had braved asking him why he wanted to share what was clearly a deeply meaningful experience with her, his answer only mildly surprised her.

 

_I want to show you more of me, Judy. I want to show you more of my design. And with this meal, I hope to discover more of yours._

 

As far as their unique relationship went, it was the icing on the cake that Judy would not trade for anything in the world.

 

Judy checked her list. She couldn’t stop the grin from forming as she read and reread Nick’s descriptions of each desired foodstuff.

 

  * Millet seed (arguably the second most important part in this dish – I’m getting the first most important – About three pounds should do it)
  * Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, Thyme (or The Scarborough Fair - great song by Simane and Garskunkel. A big handful of each.)
  * Blueberries (one box. we can do dessert with them)



 

All that was left for her to pick up on the list was the last item: Nick’s singular favorite fruit. The multipurpose, multifunctioning wonder fruit that was the blueberry. Favorite snack, fruit, dessert addition, and flavor. So much so that if Nick and Judy ever got into a row, blueberries went a mile more in strengthening the sincerity of a heartfelt apology in mending whatever hurt had been dealt.

 

She stopped at the nearest fruit stand, seeing a wide strip of blue in front, indicative of what she needed. Selecting the ripest looking box of fruit, Judy exchanged money for the goods and was stopped by a small commotion several stands down.

 

The commotion was a family of rabbits, more on the brown and hazel color palette than her grey tones she inherited from her mother’s side. They were in front of a fish stall, which was helmed by a tiger.

 

“Just . . . Christ almighty, you really gotta do that? In front of my kits, no less?!” the father accused the tiger, pointing one shaking finger at the stoic looking predator. Judy began walking over to the scene, her mind starting to go through the possible and appropriate scripts needed should things continue to escalate between the parties.

 

The tiger inhaled slowly, then answered. “I did not mean any offense. I’m just doing my job – ”

 

If there was more to his explanation, the family of rabbits didn’t care to hear it.

 

“You can look me in the face and call _that_ a job??” the mother exclaimed, who was trying to console one crying kit. “Unbelievable.”

 

Judy could now see the probable source of their rift. The tiger was busy preparing some large cut of fish, several fish by the amount of blood and fluid running off the side of his stand and onto the ground. The smell of death and spilled innards began to fill her head.

 

“Why on earth you gotta do something so disgusting and foul out in public like that?” the rabbit father accused again.

 

“Because a customer paid for me to prep him with a meal when he gets off from work,” was the tiger’s even response, although Judy could clearly detect the grit at the back end of his tone.

 

All of the rabbits’ faces, those that were of age to speak and understand English at least, flinched in disgust.

 

“Your type of ‘business’ should be outlawed from this public space,” the father rabbit sneered, starting his brood away. “You’ve upset my kits for no other reason than to indulge in something so – so damn savage! Absolutely disgusting.”

 

As they walked past Judy, herself now headed to the direction of the fish stand, Judy picked up the muttered words, “They said Zootopia’s a nice place. What a load of shit. Can’t believe they allow that in public, in front of the kits too.” Judy noticed how rapidly all of their noses were twitching, no doubt having detected the blood and viscera from the butchering.

 

It took Judy a moment to decide exactly why she stopped in front of the seafood stand. It was also a little perplexing as to why she did not take the opportunity to try and reprimand the bunnies, in spite of how legal their opinions and actions were. Instead, she stood at the stand, wondering why that was where her feet had planted her.

 

Judy got it. She was watching, with patience and diligence, how the tiger was cutting the fish. Watched as the sharp knife tip punctured behind the eyes, the loud POP of something internal snapping that followed. The sudden and startling flip of the fish’s entire length in desperate protest to the blow, then the even sawing sound as the chef cut and cut. The fish’s body flopped back down to the board. With one claw, not a knife, the tiger unzipped the fish’s belly and began pulling out the organs. Judy stared into the fish’s eyes. They did not blink nor cry. They only stared back.

 

The tiger brought her back to reality. “You gonna tell me I can’t do this here, either?” he asked, one part tired, one part aggravated.

 

Judy watched in awe as a trail of blood, watered down but red all the same, ran down the table, dutifully following gravity and the paths of least resistance as it spilled off the side. The blood of an animal was dripping into the grass, and no one was going to stop it. Not even an angry family of bunnies.

 

She thought of a fox eating an octopus, still alive and fighting for its life.

 

“No, I’m not,” Judy replied. “Do – do you catch the fish yourself?” She realized immediately after the question left her mouth what a dumb question it was and cringed at her own naivety.

 

Thankfully, the tiger did not call her out on it. At least, not too harshly. “Nope. That’s what I pay the fellas down at the docks for.”

 

“Oh, uhm, yeah, I see.” Judy paused, willing up the courage to spit out the question she really wanted to ask, the one currently lodged in her throat.

 

“Why – why do you kill them . . . like that?” she braved.

 

The tiger stopped his fileting and slowly looked up at her. He answered, “The tip severs the brain stem from the rest of the body. What happens afterwards is the nerves across the whole body firing spastically. Can’t feel pain, or at least that’s what the goody two-shoes say to keep prey calm. I’ve always been told that it prevents the meat from spoiling too fast. Keeps the blood flowing just long enough to provide nutrients to the rest of the fish, even when you cut em up.

 

“It’s not about being uselessly violent with them. Despite what prey think, it’s just the name of the game. Kill efficiently. What we kill, we eat. And if we’re gonna kill something to eat it, might as well put in the work to make it taste better.”

 

Judy thanked him for the explanation, wished him a good day, and turned to head back to her apartment, all necessary ingredients in paw, the scent of fresh fish blood and meat still filling her head.

 

Her stomach growled.

 

~

 

Judy entered her apartment and found Nick on her couch, patiently staring at the door. Waiting for her. From a cursory glance, he was empty-handed. Nick clapped his paws together and made his way towards her.

 

“Excellent. I see you made it back with everything we need. Oh, and one quick thing; you can’t go into the living room. Part of our dinner surprise currently sits in there.”

 

Judy stared at Nick, then slowly turned her head to look at the living room entrance. From where she stood, she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Couldn’t hear anything, either.

 

“Now,” Nick continued, drawing her attention back to him, “step one of preparation: mix ingredients in bowl.”

 

Together, under Nick’s instruction, they finely diced the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme into flake-sized pieces and mixed them evenly into the millet seed.

 

“And that, my dear Hopps, is preparation complete,” Nick said in mock celebration, “Now, comes the waiting game,” Nick stated, popping a blueberry into his maw. Judy looked at the box of blueberries, then at the bowl of stirred seeds and leaves. An idea formed.

 

“Since you are being so darn secretive about what exactly we will be eating, I can at least guess that we will be eating that?” she asked, pointing to the bowl of minced leaves, cloves, and seed.

 

“I knew there was a reason you were promoted to detective,” Nick chided, popping another blueberry into his mouth. She rolled her eyes. His tongue was starting to turn purple.

 

“So, what if we put some blueberries into the seed?” she asked, before continuing, “I mean, like squeeze the juice and pulp from the blueberries into the millet? Millet seed on its own has no real taste and is even more basic than white rice, and The Scarborough Fair of herbs we’ve got going on here are essentially all flavor enhancers. Mixing something sweet and a little bitter as blueberries into the mix would only make the dish taste better.”

 

Judy paused before turning to face Nick, and felt her belly drop. He looked completely taken aback, mouth hanging open and eyes wide –

 

No, no that wasn’t quite right . . . Nick’s eyes weren’t _wide_ per se; they were just open fully. Nick didn’t look exacerbated or shocked; he looked like someone who had finally dawned on a solution to a particularly infuriating puzzle.

 

The reynard took a few small, calculated steps towards her, placed both paws on the sides of her face, and kissed her. She felt his canines brush against her lips, felt his tongue dance and caress his way across hers. He tasted so deliciously like fox and blueberries.

 

Nick pulled away from her, against her mild protest, his lips seeming to stay on hers for a moment longer before he spoke. “What . . . a wonderful idea, my dear Judith. Looks like you really did earn that detective title. You promised you haven’t peaked? Because I think we should implement your little addition to our meal.”

 

It took Judy a moment to collect her thoughts, her currently dizzied thoughts over the sweet and unexpected moment of intimacy. “N-no, I haven’t peaked! It was just a suggestion.”

 

“And a good suggestion it was. Almost bummed I never thought of it myself. But that’s one of the many things I love about you; such a go-getter and a tryer,” he remarked with a grin.

 

Taking pawfuls of blueberries and holding them over the bowl, they squeezed out the pulp until the almost pastel-colored seed mixture had turned dark blue. Stirring revealed that the juice made the seed sticky and clump together into an oatmeal-like paste.

 

“Well,” Nick said, taking a step back, folding his arms, and observing their static product, “consistency is different than what the original recipe calls for, but I don’t foresee any problems going forward with it.”

 

Their finished prep was a big bowl of blueberry soaked millet seed and The Scarborough Fair quartet. Nick switched between looking at the mixture and looking at Judy in the proud way a craftsman would both appraise and appreciate his work and tools. Judy patiently waited for him to dictate their next step. It took some verbal encouraging.

 

“Sooo, what next?” she patiently asked him.

 

Nick turned to face her. “Didn’t you say you had some errands you needed to run today?”

 

Always the doer, Judy did, and started listing. “Yup. Have to go mail the bills, and have to stop at the grocery store for chips and carrots. Wanted to go to the outlets and see if they have this new sweater – you’d love it, it’s all over the Internet right now! Covers my front but leaves my back almost entirely exposed and – ”

 

“And that sounds great,” Nick said in slightly mock fascination, the smile offsetting any potential venom the reply could have carried. “I think you should go do all of that. Take your time. More waiting required in the kitchen. A few hours should be plenty.”

 

Judy waited for him to continue his line of reasoning. When he did not, she prompted, “And . . . ? You will be doing . . . ?”

 

“My-oh-my, you are one impatient bunny,” he teased through a toothy grin. “And just so inquisitive! Were you the kit that was always trying to unwrap her Christmas gifts the night before?”

 

It was silent for a moment, and then a repetitive and strong sound filled the room.

 

_Thump.            Thump.            Thump,    thump,   thump, thump-thump-thump-thump._

 

The sound of Judy’s foot starting up on the hardwood floor. It never got old. Much like her, Nick was slowly realizing that he could never tire of her. And that thrilled him to no end. Because with her, he was finding there was always more. There was so much more to learn about her. So much more to enjoy. So much more to _discover_.

 

_So much more to uncover about our designs._

 

“Now-now-now,” he chided, placing one paw on her back as he guided her to the door, “My cute little bunny. I promise it will be worth the surprise. Go run your bunny errands. Time is needed, and watching seed does not make the clock go any faster.”

 

“I see what you’re doing!” Judy pointed one finger at him, still letting herself be ushered out of her own apartment. “You’re calling me cute in hopes that it will flatter me! Well, I will have you know, that even though you are the exception to the rule and can call me ‘cute’, I will not go so easily!”

 

Judy told Nick so while she stood in the hall.

 

“Rrrrright,” he replied with raised eyebrows. “I’ll see you when you get back, Carrots.” Judy opened her mouth to say something back, but by then, the door had politely yet firmly closed in her face.

 

~

  
Judy returned to find Nick pouring what looked like gasoline into a large pot. Even though her sense of smell was nowhere near as sharp as his, she was still able to recognize the substance not as petroleum but as alcohol. Even from across the room, the warm and full-bodied aroma of the liquor reached her nose.

 

When she entered her apartment, Judy Hopps heard something _new._ For a rabbit, whose species had one of two calls to individual fame, one being their excellent hearing (the other being their vigorous sexual stamina), hearing something entirely new in her apartment was cause for concern.

 

It was brief, a snap of a sound that only registered as heard stimuli. Not enough time to devote attention to the detail, but enough that she caught it.

 

Nick saw her catch the sound. He supposed he should come clean with it and tell her what the surprise was.

 

Or he could let the surprise be just that. A surprise. Nick opted to let it be as much of a surprise as possible.

 

Judy heard the sound again, this time paying attention. It came from her newly forbidden living room. The sounds registered.

 

She lost feeling in her arms and her stomach flipped. Her breathing quickened.

 

_Feet._ What she was hearing was the tiny scuttling of feet.

 

“Nick . . . ?” she cautioned, voice high and gaining the momentum of slight panic. The fox, eyes glinting with something calculating and controlling, began walking away and into the living room. Judy watched as he reentered the kitchen, holding a covered shoebox.

 

Something alive was skittering around inside of it. And by the small cacophony of sounds, it either had many legs or was more than one animal.

 

“ _Nick_ . . . ” Judy withheld the urge to scream his name out of growing panic, but some of her worry slipped into saying his name.

 

Whatever other words and sounds of panic that were on their way out of her mouth were immediately halted by the small growl Nick shot her, poignant and clear by the mildly annoyed gleam in his eyes and tremor in his old world warning.

 

_Be. Quiet._

 

So her paws flew over her mouth, lest her panic sneak its way out. Likewise, Nick placed one finger over his own mouth, reinforcing the need for silence from the both of them, then began undoing a stretch of duct tape that held the box shut.

 

He pulled out, with delicate precision, a bird. It did not move in his tightly wound paw, the head facing forward, the tail feathers still.

 

“A bird,” she breathed, “A toy bird. Nick, I swear to God if this was all some lead up to a joke – ”

 

The toy bird’s head swiveled and looked directly at Judy. The tail feathers ruffled. The ‘toy’ chirped at her, heading cocking to the side as the bird examined her.

 

Judy felt the breath leave her and her lungs refuse to inhale.

 

“ _Alive . . . it’s alive_.”

 

“Good to see that you too, like Dr. Frankenswine, can recognize the importance and value of a life, my dear Judy.” As he spoke, Nick’s arms moved in natural cadence, the bird’s head swiveling and leveling to keep staring at Judy.

 

“Oh God Nick, that bird . . . holy shit that bird is not dead it is alive are we going to be eating that??!!” her words more or less just poured from her mouth.

 

“This, Judy, is an ortolan bunting,” Nick explained. “A bird native to England and France. Yes, this one and its partner still in the box are very much alive. And yes, you and I will be eating them.

 

Judy forced the words out. “Nick . . . Nick, the birds. They are still ALIVE.” Her eyes met his. “We have to kill them?”

 

“I could eat them alive – not sure how you’d feel about _that_ – but they must be dead for us to really enjoy them,” Nick said in a reserved tone.

 

“I – I don’t . . . Nick, why are they still alive?”

 

“Judy,” Nick said in a slightly strained and impatient tone, “Tell me something. What’s the difference between eating sushi and eating him?” Nick held the bird closer to her face. The bunting’s head rotated around, trying to work an angle to peck at its captor. Nick did not so much as wince at each successful strike the bird landed on his fingers.

 

Judy didn’t even open her jaw. She had no answer. So Nick answered for her.

 

“Merely a matter of state and action, that’s what. Did you ever really think that the fish we ate was dead the moment that it came into this world? Because someone had to kill it in order for us to safely enjoy it. When it comes to eating meat, death is always the prerequisite.”

 

Nick let the words sink in before continuing. “There’s no difference between here and whenever either of us eats sushi. Hell, at that point, both of us are merely scavengers, opportunistic feeders, that have come across stranded prey. We didn’t do any of the real legwork. Eating out – anywhere – in this city does not a predator make.

 

“At least one of us has to do the deed. It’s only part of being a carnivore, of being a predator. It is in my design to do this. And before your train of thought derails, I volunteer to be he who swings the sword for both of these ortolans. I would never force you into that.”

 

Nick turned and placed the bird back into its makeshift cage. He turned back to her with a very restrained expression. “Unless, you don’t want me to prepare them, and just pretend like this never happened. Because judging by the wide eyes you’re giving me – ”

 

She had already settled definitively on the answer. Judy still surprised herself more than anything by blurting out, “Let’s do it.”

 

Nick regarded her for a moment, letting the weight of her decision sink in for the both of them. “You sure? A fox does not take kindly to being misled out of a meal, Rabbit.”

 

“Very,” Judy affirmed, now feeling the adrenaline soak into her muscles and words. “You do one, and – and I’ll do the other.”

 

It should not have surprised her how the fox smiled at her commitment. And how his eyes lit up when he heard her admit that she would be taking a direct hand in the meal.

 

“Alright, _predator_ ,” Nick said, nodding over to the pot, “let’s get started. I am very hungry.” Judy’s stomach growled on cue. “As is a certain bunny,” Nick commented.

 

The pair stood over the counter, in front of them the pot filled with what was clearly a very strong type of alcohol and the shoebox prison containing their still very alive dinner.

 

“I’ll go first, then,” Nick said in a very pleased tone, reaching into the box.

 

“Uh, Nick? Not to point out the obvious, but how am I supposed to . . . you know, do the deed? I don’t come equipped with the built-in cutlery.”

 

“Oh no,” Nick said while carefully plucking out one ortolan and keeping the lid still mostly sealed so that the other one was contained, “no stabbings or impalements. Their bodies are too small for my claws, teeth, or any knives you’ve got. We have to go with a method that won’t damage their bodies. Drowning.”

 

“Drowning?” Judy exclaimed. “In what?”

 

Nick nodded to the pot of dark, amber liquid. “Armagnac. It’ll fill their lungs and windpipes and soak their flesh.”

 

“I’m sorry, did you say Armagnac? Not cognac?”

 

“Sure did,” Nick replied. “Ever have it?” Judy shook her head. There was always a first when it came to the fox. Like actively taking a hand in killing what you were going to eat. And drinking a new type of alcohol. Things like those.

 

“To quote a fox more wise in alcohol than I,” Nick started, “Finnick always said that cognac is like your high school crush: a beautiful, young, and immature thing. Armagnac is like a woman: beautiful, but also of a certain age and full of certain experiences, one that you would not bring home to meet your mother.”

 

Judy rolled her eyes.

 

“Armagnac is a more sophisticated and complex brandy. Gorgeous true, but more seductive in her maturity. And in our maturity, we realize the things that please us above all else. As we mature, we find out that _tastes_ refine and develop in ways we are hopeless to stop. Like many things in life, one can become fond of cognac, but one becomes passionate about Armagnac. Amongst . . . other things.”

 

“Did you paraphrase that all from Finnick?” Judy asked with only a hint of sarcasm. “In the time I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him say so much as you just did.”

 

“He’s a wise fennec of few words. Most of the time,” Nick replied. He made a small motion with the paw that held the bird. “For the last few hours or so, these little birds have been stuffing themselves with our blueberry Scarborough millet mixture, literally because they and the food were in the dark. For an ortolan bunting, when darkness falls, they eat and eat until they actually can’t. They gorge themselves.”

 

“That’s . . . that’s a really strange behavior,” Judy commented.

 

“It is. So much so that when predators discovered the joys of enhancing the natural flavors of their food, having such a petite little bird do all the work for you was quite the win-lose. Win for preds, lose for birds.”

 

“And this is all, you know, not torturous, right?” Judy asked.

 

Nick shrugged. “We certainly aren’t delighting in any suffering they may or may not be feeling, and the death is straightforward. I’d say that morally we are in the clear.” The answer for Judy was more than satisficing.

 

“The process is simple,” Nick explained, holding his gaze with Judy. “Just put their whole bodies into the alcohol. No biting or stabbing; you kill by counting backwards from twenty. By then, they will be dead. Don’t worry about getting your fingers or wrists wet. Just so long that you hold the head down under for about fifteen seconds, and they should be gone by then.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Judy breathed, paws working over themselves. “Is it alright if you go first and . . . that I watch?” Her request sounded almost perversely voyeuristic to her ears.

 

“Of course,” Nick replied. With one complete and unflinching motion, Nick pushed his hand and the ortolan into the alcohol. There was a brief splashing as the bird first submerged, and then its movements became slowed, as if the liquid was as heavy as honey.

 

Under the Armagnac, the bird’s frantic movements and thrashing slowed into an irregular dance.

 

Judy alternated between watching the murder in slow motion and the murderer –

 

– _Murderer? That’s . . . a bit of a stretch, don’t you think Judy? After all, two of one makes you a murderer, too_

 

– doing the killing.

 

It took her a moment to place Nick’s expression while he held the bird under. It was not what she originally would have guessed. It wasn’t ecstatic or malicious; no signs of something like sexual euphoria or manic fury were present in his face or in his eyes.

 

Nick looked very calm. Calculated. Precise. Glad.

 

_Like someone who has done this many times before. Like a mammal that is not bothered by the idea of death._

_Like a predator that is taking the life of prey._

 

Nick retracted his paw from the alcohol. The ortolan stayed in suspended animation in the liquid, barely floating towards the surface.

 

“Your turn,” he told her.

 

_As if taking a turn playing video games or to ask a question_ , Judy thought. _My turn to take a life._

Judy nodded and flexed her paws and fingers. Nick held onto the box lid while Judy wormed her arm into the container, fingers gently flexing for the other ortolan.

 

She felt the feathers, felt the plump bird jump and try to fly away from her paw. A quick grasp; the bird moved to the nearest corner. Judy’s paw followed, fingers splayed out to make a net to enclose around the ortolan.

 

Judy felt the very plump, feathery body wiggle in her paws. Before pulling her paw and her quarry out from the container, the rabbit, as gently as she could, practiced squeezing the bird to calculate the amount of force needed so that she and Nick wouldn’t have to turn the apartment inside out to snag an escaped bird.

 

The pair of killers stared at the bird nestled in Judy’s paws. The bunting’s head pivoted around, and was clearly more focused on the fox rather than the rabbit. Judy placed her paws over the container of Armagnac, where the other ortolan’s fat body floated lifelessly.

 

“You okay?” Nick asked.

 

“I am,” Judy replied, feeling the fox smooth his body against the back of hers, arms coming up along the sides of hers, paws and claws covering and outlining hers. “I just hold down and count back from 20?”

 

“I can count aloud for you if that helps.”

 

Judy nodded, and brought her paws and the ortolan down into its grave.

 

Maybe the ortolan saw its deceased comrade floating on the surface. Maybe something registered about seeing another dead bird at eye level moments before being submerged and held in Armagnac. Judy would never know.

 

It was more of a full body twitch than anything else. A spasm by the bird at suddenly knowing that it was going under. Without any real assistance from Nick, Judy kept her fingers firm and tight around her quarry.

 

Nick began counting aloud. “Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen . . . ”

 

_Never thought you’d be here. But then again, you thought that before he had you eating sushi out of his paw._

 

“Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen . . . ”

 

_This is it. You couldn’t leave ‘eating meat’ as enough, could you? You had to go further._

“Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine . . . ”

 

_You had to continue exploring Carnivory._

 

“Eight. Seven.”

 

_You are becoming more like him. Like a predator._

 

“Six. Five. Four.”

 

_You are playing into this fox’s design . . ._

“Three. Two. One.”

_. . . And you are so excited to be more a part of his._

 

“And you are done,” Nick whispered to her, his paws releasing hers and lifting out from the alcohol. After a moment, Judy’s fingers loosened, and the ortolan she had picked up alive and kicking stayed perfectly still. Judy felt a rush of electric buzzing wash over her. Completely and wholly new and unique. At most, she could draw mild parallels to the feeling of suddenly reaching intoxication on an empty stomach, or the effects of a mild orgasm still rolling through her muscles and mind. The sensation she was experiencing now was a terrifying mixture of both.

 

Nick watched from behind as Judy placed both alcohol soaked paws on the counter around the container of Armagnac. He heard her exhale. Could see her muscles under her shirt loosening from her back, watched as she relaxed.

 

“Tell me what you are feeling,” was his demand. And her answer was, “I am . . . very surprised.”

 

The fox nodded, noting the singular twitch of her cotton swab tail. “Surprised at what you are feeling?”

 

Judy nodded slowly, before saying, “I shouldn’t feel like this. It’s not right. Prey shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel . . . ” Judy searched for the right word, the only accurate indicator of her current state of mind. “I shouldn’t feel _thrilled_.”

 

The bunny felt her fox’s arms wrap around her waist. Felt the warmth of his stomach cover her back. Felt his head rest on top of hers. The growl coming from him was so soft it was more a purr than anything else.

 

“It’s okay,” he cooed to her, his words perforating her worry and doubt, his confidence washing away any lingering feelings of heavily conflicted emotion. “It is perfectly okay to feel that way. To feel powerful. To feel in control. It’s your kill, Judy. His blood and flesh are yours to take now, yours to eat and consume. There is nothing to be ashamed of in that type of joy.” Nick said it all to her with such endearment, with such pride.

 

The rabbit considered his answer for a moment. “You promise?” was her timid sounding response.

 

Nick kissed the back of her head. “As if I could lie about something so beautifully intimate and private with you. Now,” Nick reached into the alcohol and picked out the two dead birds, “into the oven at four hundred for only a few minutes, and that is our dinner.” Nick left Judy staring at the pot of liquor. She heard him whistling to himself with delightful nonchalance as he placed their kills on a metal tray and into the heated oven.

 

Her mind began to wonder. Judy stared at her barely visible reflection in the dark amber liquid.

 

_You aren’t bothered by it . . .the opposite, really. You’re thrilled that you successfully did it. That you were able to kill something that was more aware of its own life than a bug. And you enjoyed the success of it. And you are actually hungry for the bird._

 

“Hey Nick,” Judy hesitantly called out, still looking at her alcoholic reflection.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How do you think I’d taste dipped in Armagnac?” The resounding silence from the fox was the instant answer. Nick suddenly became so quiet that Judy honestly thought, for a moment, that he had vanished from her kitchen, vanished into thin air. Even with her highly acute hearing, for a very brief moment, the fox was entirely absent from her sense of hearing.

 

For one terrifying moment, the rabbit lost auditory track of the fox.

 

And then she heard him release a breath, almost too loudly, and felt him come up behind her. One clawed paw took hers and slowly dipped one of her fingers into the alcohol. Nick brought her hand and dripping finger up and behind her field of vision.

 

Judy gasped at feeling the hot coil of his tongue touch the end of her finger, feeling his tongue begin to snake around her digit, and then the exquisite sharpness of his teeth gently close around it. Nick sucked on her for a moment, then released her now clean finger.

 

“That is . . . delicious . . . very interesting,” he purred into her ear. And with that, Nick spun back towards the oven.

 

“And _that_ is dinner,” Nick concluded, fetching out the now mildly roasted ortolans.

 

They sat at her small table, facing each other, their plates presenting the ortolans each had successfully harvested. The heat of the ovens had burned the birds’ small feathers right off and away. Neither diner had any silverware, only a white napkin and two small glasses of red wine.

 

Nick picked up his napkin, but instead of immediately placing it on his lap, he seemed to ponder it for a moment before addressing his bunny.

 

“Before we start, you need to know about the old tradition that goes paw in paw with this particular delicacy.”

 

“Cheese and crackers, there’s more to this?” Judy questioned, now honestly surprised at how extensive this meal could be. Her stomach growled in protest.

 

“Almost there to eating the one thing that will forever ruin all other foodstuffs for you, I promise,” Nick winked at her. “Now, traditionally, when you eat an ortolan this way, one drapes their napkin over their eyes and then eats the bird. Care to take a guess as to why?”

 

Judy thought for a moment. “It has to have something to do with the flavor, right?”

 

“It does have a hand in flavor enhancement, yes, but another reason is traditional. I have heard prey say that this meal is an affront to civilized manners. That it is, and I quote, an essay in gluttony, a dark indulgence in carnivorous behavior. And I completely agree with them.

 

“That is exactly what this is. To say that this is any different than any other meat dish that mammals consume is just hypocrisy. But many mammals would see otherwise. They see vicious indulgence. So much thought and preparation around death and devouring. So much so, that even preds thought that it was so shameful an act. So when this tradition was invented hundreds of years ago, the eater was expected to cover his eyes and his face from the scrutinizing and disappointed face of God. Because surely, if the prey mammals think of us predators as savage beasts, ones that engage in such hedonism, then so must the benevolent Creator.”

 

Nick looked at Judy, making a distinct point to hold her gaze, and dropped his napkin to the floor.

 

“Tonight, I say to hell with that tradition,” Nick told her, slitted pupils refusing to leave hers. “I have gone my entire life with this city and its majority hating me – fearing me – for what I am. It only made me hate and fear myself and whatever awaited me. When I met you, it all changed in such a beautiful way. You accepted me, Judy. And now, I am no longer afraid of what God thinks of me. Or of what others think of me. I only care about what you think of _me_ and my _design_.”

 

With that, Nick picked up his ortolan and moved it towards his mouth. Judy stopped it from reaching its final resting place with a quick and amazed question.

 

“Wait – wait – wait,” Judy asked, mind still combing over what had just been imparted to her, “bones and all?”

 

Nick’s smile was clever, toothy, calculated, and proud. “Bones and all,” he confirmed. Nick popped the entire ortolan into his waiting maw.

 

Judy just watched in revered fascination – in appreciation – in hunger – as Nick chewed at the bird with eyes closed and a smile trying to open his mouth up. In the silence of their meal, Judy heard his teeth paring the ortolan’s body, heard his jaws effortlessly snap and saw away at the little bones.

 

Nick looked completely enraptured. He seemed to chew for longer than necessary, not wanting his hedonistic pleasure to end too soon.

 

After a few moments, the fox swallowed his food and slowly lowered both paws onto the table. He drummed his fingers and actually hummed, eyes still closed, before letting out a truly rattled and deep breath.

 

The very fresh smell of cooked flesh, liquor, and fox reached Judy. Her mouth watered.

 

“That . . . that is just beyond comparison,” Nick breathed out, finally opening his eyes. He seemed so delighted he couldn’t even force a smile. “Your turn, my dear.”

 

“Should I use the napkin?” Judy asked, picking hers up, entirely unsure if she should or shouldn’t.

 

“For your first time, I’d say go ahead,” Nick recommended with a curious grin. “I agree with the traditionalists that closing one’s eyes increases your sense of taste. And this is one dish you never want to skimp out on.”

 

Judy unfolded her napkin with one paw, grabbed her ortolan with the other, tilted her head back, and draped the cloth over her eyes. In one quick motion, Judy popped the entire ortolan into her open mouth. She began chewing.

 

It came back. The feeling she achieved when she ‘helped’ in harvesting the ortolan. Because now she was devouring her kill. And on top of it, an unbelievable taste filled her head. Her eyes actually shot open, and she stared into the white void of her napkin. Judy forced her eyes back shut and focused on her tongue.

 

Nick had been right. This was the new gold standard for food. She now understood why it was so much work. Why it was beyond worth the work. Why predators kept such a secret.

 

Flavors. The blueberry Scarborough Fair enhanced them all to a startling degree. The rich and pungent aroma on her tongue from the Armagnac. The smooth, ancient and decadent flavor of the skin, fat, meat, and organs compacting down between her teeth into a savory pâté. The succulent taste of figs coming through from the meat.

 

And a few bright and barely registered notes of pain coming from the walls of her cheeks and from the corners of her mouth, followed by a sweet saltiness that only made the meal that much more incredible. The taste was so bright and impacting, it made her head swim.

 

_That . . . that is almost as good as sex._

 

With that thought, Judy swallowed her kill, the napkin still resting over her eyes. The napkin began to move, to lift away from her, and instead of seeing the disappointed and heartbroken gaze of God, Judy Hopps saw the wondrous and approving smile from a fox named Nick Wilde.

 

He had walked over to her, and the bunny immediately pulled him in for a deep kiss. To top off the list of flavors, fox and rabbit were added to the profile.

 

They both tasted it at the same time. Both realized what that distinct, salty taste was, the one accompanying the brief and faint notes of pain Judy felt while eating her ortolan.

 

The broken bones of the ortolan, sharp and jagged, had delivered a few small cuts across the inside of her cheek and at the corners of her lips.

 

The saltiness that so deeply enriched the ortolan’s flesh, that finished off the best meal of her life, was her own blood.

 

Nick stared wide-eyed at her, pupils narrowing. The fox actually looked shocked, surprised. Perhaps surprised at having tasted rabbit’s blood. Surprised at the taste. His nostrils flared. Judy stared back, the hot and desperate coil of want taking root between her legs. Without breaking his gaze, Judy re-closed the distance between them in a more desperate and fevered kiss, wanting to feel the dangerously sharp teeth against her again.

 

_You are my predator_

Their kissing became more aggressive. Both of their paws were working furiously to undress each other. Nick’s claws began cutting and shredding away Judy’s clothes. They wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.

_I am your prey_

Nick growled, ears depressing to his head, tongue darting out between the kissing to lick at her blood and her wounds, to lap at the soft fur against her neck. Judy just moaned and let the fox sample her neck, let him sample her body. Content to let the fox taste his rabbit.

_And this . . . is our design._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thought i'd do a follow up to the first chapter of the short stories, to be completely honest. Just goes to show that inspiration and creativity are very fickle mistresses. 
> 
> Trivia: the dish prepared here by Nick and Judy is an actual dish and tradition that has gathered a fair amount of controversy over the years. Preparing and eating ortolan buntings this way is considered by many to be cruel and indulgent, but many of the best chefs in the world claim that the tastes are purely unparalleled and that the practice is an essential part of French cuisine. More so, but this idea came about, again, while watching Hannibal. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and feel free to tell me what you thought! Comments are always appreciated! And remember, this is my design.


	8. The Quickie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of a busy day, Judy is feeling frisky. Very frisky. She and Nick have roughly ten minutes to get each other off. At least once. CAN THEY DO IT? Read and see. A simple, quick, dirty, and feverishly sexual liaison between everyone’s favorite interspecies couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a large thank you! to Drummer for proofing this in such a short period of time and throwing it back to me with his much needed corrections and suggestions!

The second hand on the wall-mounted clock moved with maddening slowness. Each _tick_                 _tick_                   _tick_ taking several seconds to pass. Even the flickering of the abused and outdated fluorescents seemed to slur. Her mouth felt dry, the slightest pressure of a headache bouncing between her brain and her eyes. She leaned forward, just enough so that the loose shirt she was wearing was in the least amount of contact against her stiffened nipples. Her body, particularly her center, ached with a dull yet very sensitive throb, one that was highlighted with every single heartbeat. Each palpitation of her heart was felt in full against her sex, as if her body was trying its damnedest to signal her as to what area was starved for attention.

 

As if she had no damn idea.

 

While she never cared for the ‘itch’ analogy, it certainly was becoming an irritating sensation that so desperately needed a good, ferocious, sharp and snarling scratching.

 

This cycle, her heat felt almost overwhelmingly strong, the reason for its intensity known only to the factors of biology and chance. The worst part was that she hadn’t even woken up to it. Leaving her apartment and her fox, she was normal, regularly functioning Judy. No indication that today it would come barreling over her body with the ferocity and agonizing persistence of a tsunami.

 

Until, on her way to the cleaners, she happened to hear something over the din of the streets. The very clear and very pronounced sounds of two mammals fucking. Following the direction provided by her telescopic hearing, Judy looked up the side of an apartment building to the second story where she saw two wolves, the naked female pressed face first up against a windowpane and fully enraptured by the repeated thrusts her mate was delivering to her.

 

Judy was hearing their efforts through the small space of that same open window.

 

Judy also guessed she was staring for more than a few moments. And that there was a reason the couple was fucking against a clear window on a busy street. The female happened to open her eyes, and happened to look directly at Judy. The wolf smiled and gave a longing lick on the window, leaving a foggy and wet spot on the glass. All while holding eye contact with a clearly scandalized-looking rabbit. An indirect yet very direct message from one mammal to another.

 

And just like that, all of the pin tumblers fell into their respective cylinders, and exactly twenty-six steps later, the lock was picked free and Judy was leaning against a street pole, fist to her mouth, trying not to moan in public.

 

_WOW. Wow, wow, wow I would’ve loved to have sat in on that little exercise just to watch just to inhale how that apartment smelled I bet the smell of him would have been close enough to resemble Nick and I could have closed my eyes and imagined I was her. . ._

 

The switch had been flipped, and every step since had rubbed her the right way. However, having to be at the station within the hour was putting a damper on any plans to find a secluded spot and rub a few out at her own leisure. She was also craving more than what her fingers could provide. Double the problems in half the amount of time. Lovely.

 

It was all becoming painfully obvious. Or, maybe she was just now finally accepting the fact that she did not have the willpower to overcome her desires. Judy Hopps was going to have to make a quick rendezvous to work out one more orgasm (hopefully three if she could will it) with Nick before heading back to the station.

 

The reasons for her requested presence was for a public relations meeting that Bogo ‘insisted’ (READ: demanded) Judy be in attendance for. Pleasant, cheery, beautiful face of the ZPD and all. Nick, that lucky son of a vixen, was given the option to opt out because you only ever needed one working officer to mingle with the rest of the upper echelon of Precinct One, the press, and the kiss-asses and aides of City Hall. So, attendance on his part was optional. Which he so wisely took. Which left the fox free to do whatever he wanted.

 

Which currently wasn’t her – _Don’t get sidetracked stay focused Stay Focused Do NOT start thinking about that not here not in a public place especially not at the dry cleaners._

 

And while her fox was doing whatever, she was running on a condensed schedule, currently picking up her dress blues from Speedy Cleaning. Currently. As in, her foot was beginning to thump against the floor in increasing impatience as the owner, a sloth, moved towards her at the speed of slow with a plastic bag containing her washed and pressed uniform. The sloth was about six feet away and closing. It would take a little time.

 

Her hearing picked up the door opening and the species-familiar sound of another rabbit walking in. The rabbit in question came to a stop next to Judy. She spared a glance. Male. Handsome. Wearing a fitted suit. Young. Ears held upright. Would probably fetch a crowd back home. Would probably only catch a passing glance in this city. Would be lucky to be noticed by anyone. Or do any noticing of his own.

 

And then the realization hit her, elevating her pounding heartbeat up into her eardrums. _Oh no. Oh. No. Oh shit, shit shit SHIT!_

 

There was no air conditioning at this dry cleaners. The door wasn’t propped open. It sealed them both in. Stagnant air. No moving air. Which meant that evidence of her mounting heat had nowhere to go but spread like a fog. The area populated in the building by only two bunnies (and a sloth operating in the lowest possible gear) was surely going to reek entirely of very in-season doe.

 

She watched with removed horror as the young rabbit’s eyes, currently fixated on his phone, suddenly widened, watched his ears spring ramrod straight up. She even caught the slight dilation of his pupils, heard him swallow to clear what was likely a suddenly dry mouth. His nose began wrinkling and taking deeper and deeper breaths, his chest taking stronger pulls and faster exhales to reexamine the air. He slowly turned his head towards her, with Judy just staring back, mouth pinched in a thin line.

 

His eyes flashed up and down her slender figure, pausing longer than necessary on the curve of her rear and on her tail. Making eye contact, the message from him to her was painfully clear and needed not one breath of verbalizing.

 

_You smell like you’re ready to go for a roll in the clover._

 

It wasn’t like she could really fault him for the elevator eyes and lewd looks. It _was_ practically how most rabbit hookups happened back home anyway.

 

But she sure as shit could fault him for the words he said to her next.

 

“Nice perfume you’re wearing,” the buck told her in a quiet voice, slowly putting his phone back in his pocket. “You smell absolutely . . . enchanting.”

 

“Thanks,” Judy replied, further off-put by his use of the word ‘enchanting’. She needed to nip this in the bud. Now. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s not for you.” An ache, one so sudden and wonderful it almost elicited a gasp, surged out from between her thighs. It made her toes curl, and she tried to not grimace and pinch her eyes too tightly. The buck noticed all three of her actions. Damnit.

 

It was not at all a question of would she sleep with or do anything with anyone other than Nick. That was no issue. Her interest lay solely in one particular red fox. What was the very clamoring issue was just hearing the buck’s offer, hearing his own arousal laced into his words, which only pressed the issue in her body harder. Now, her mind’s eye focused on several increasingly lurid fantasies she wanted desperately to play out with Nick. Because of the ferocity of the heat, none of the fantasies contained the rather typical intimate, sensual, and loving acts she enjoyed with him. These were more . . . graphic, desperate, passionate, dirty. Less of the ‘I love you’ variety and more of the ‘fuck me harder!’ variety. The maelstrom of thoughts sent a rolling tide of delicious pressure and heat to her sex, amongst other more publicly noticeable things like a much stronger scent.

 

The sloth was still a few painfully slow steps away to be within ‘reaching over the counter and grabbing’ distance. Judy briefly wondered if the sloth would detect her minutes from now. Her foot began thumping against the floor again.

 

“You look stressed. Probably have some knots that need my attention. Wouldn’t mind helping with that,” the buck offered, looking at her tapping foot and correctly assuming the sign of frustration but incorrectly attributing its cause. “You look like you need more than one round of ‘stress relief’. And I promise we can work out those knots quickly. You’ll be on your way in no time at all. Or longer, if you’ve got nowhere to be.”

 

Judy’s response was a hard exhale, strained and barely controlled. “Say one more word to me about how I smell or about what you think I want and I swear to God I will throw you through the storefront display window.” To her credit, Judy thought she delivered it with an appropriate amount of necessary social grace, all circumstance notwithstanding.

 

The buck’s ears dropped behind his back, and the gaze she shot him as a follow-up sent the message home, loud and clear. “Got it,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone and readjusting his pants.

 

“Here              . . .                    you                  . . .                    go,” the sloth said, smiling with not one care in the world and moving her arms and Judy’s dress blues over to the rabbit at a speed rivaling a snail’s.

 

“Ha haaaa thank you thank you thank you!” Judy quickly fished out a twenty and placed it on the counter, using a pen as a weight to hold the money down should a stray breeze misplace it. The rabbit leaned over the counter, grabbed the plastic sealed dress blues, and was out and speed walking away before the sloth managed the first word of ‘have a nice day’ and before the buck had any chance at recouping his losses.

 

Outside, Judy was busy mapping out the next thirty minutes and the respective routes she would need to follow. On Zoogle maps, she saw that her proposed meet-up destination was, to her immense delight, halfway between where she was and Precinct One. Nick, if he moved quickly, would be able to meet her there. She pulled out her cell and dialed the fox, who answered on the second ring.

 

“What’s my favorite reformed carrot farmer up to?” came his carefree answer, which for some reason both mildly aggravated and immensely turned her on. Walking was becoming a little more difficult; it was starting to become a mildly pleasurable experience, and Judy made the effort to slightly space her gait.

 

“Nick,” Judy addressed him sharply, “remember that old card room we checked out three weeks ago? The place with the blackjack, pool tables, possibly illegal gambling and faded décor that stank of cigarette smoke?”

 

“Quite the eidetic memory there. You mean Hoyt’s pool hall? Over on thirtieth and Ridgeway?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, that place . . . you’re not busy right now, are you? Can you meet me there in ten?”

 

_Please don’t be busy, please oh please oh please don’t be busy . . ._

 

There was no pause in Nick’s answer, God bless him. “Sure thing!” he answered with blissful cluelessness, not having been exposed yet to the state she had found herself in today. Judy audibly sighed in relief and pumped her free fist in the air. “Need me to bring anything?” he asked.

 

She did. “I’ll need you to bring a towel, musk mask, and a pack of spearmint Five gum.”

 

Now there was a brief pause before his answer. Judy could practically hear the gears in his head spinning through the phone. “Uhm . . . got it. Specifically Five gum orrrr any old gum?”

 

“Don’t care. So long as it’s mint,” Judy replied a little curtly, taking the conscious effort to widen her gait to stop some of the building pressure. “Thanks Nick. See you in ten.”

 

~

 

Nick pushed open the door to the pool hall, the ever-constant cloud of cigarette smoke assaulting his nose and lungs with the force of a nineteenth-century era steel production plant. And despite the place being empty sans the owner, the cloud of smoke always seemed to remain. Charming, in its own pre-public smoking regulation kind of way. Hoyt, the owner and a wolverine, was currently contributing to the cloud of smoke and reading the day’s paper. Likely doing the crosswords. He didn’t even glance up to see who had entered his building.

 

It was of no real surprise to Nick. Hoyt kept his nose out of business that wasn’t his, and was one of the few mammals that still valued his privacy. No security cameras anywhere in his establishment. That sort of thing was bad for most kinds of business, reputable or slightly otherwise.

 

Nick helped himself in and looked towards the back, towards an unassuming door tucked discreetly away in the corner. A door that led to a room he and Judy suspected was often used for illicit gambling meet-ups. Nothing serious likely traded; just cash, liquor, gold-plated watches, and grudges. Recently, a tip to the police had been placed by a sore loser from the den, and Nick and Judy were the two officers who responded to the call.

 

Of course, by the time they got there, Hoyt had (again, likely) cleaned everyone out. The pair found the room deserted and smelling strongly of musk and smoke. Things that couldn’t and wouldn’t justly warrant any degree of a full-scale investigation. Because of Hoyt’s compliance (starting the moment they arrived) and his insistence that nothing terrible was taking place on his property, Nick and Judy had left him off with a ‘warning’ to keep his room clear of any illegal gambling. Whether he took the warning to heart would be decided if they were ever summoned back to this particular establishment while in uniform.

 

Today, they were out of uniform, so the issue was moot.

 

“Hiya Hoyt,” Nick said as he passed. “Was my partner here by chance?”

 

“Heard her come in through the back,” Hoyt grumbled without looking up, reaching into his pocket. “Also heard her lock the door. Don’t know why, don’t care to know why. Assumin’ you’ll be needin’ these.” Hoyt threw Nick a set of keys, which the fox deftly caught. The wolverine returned to reading and sucking down the currently lit cigarette.

 

“Thanks . . . “ Nick muttered, now unsure why Judy didn’t use the front door and why she had locked the door to the gambling den. Nick arrived at the rear door, jiggled the doorknob, yes it was indeed locked, unlocked it, and entered.

 

His eyesight caught him up to speed before the smell hit him. Over near the derelict table they suspected hosted games of Texas Hold’em and Blackjack, Judy was barely supporting herself, using one paw on the table to hold herself upright. Her pants and underwear were pooled at her ankles, her knees pivoted in together, and her other paw quickly and feverishly worked in and out of the apex of her legs. Her moans were ragged, hard breaths, and her eyes were lidded to the point they were almost shut.

 

Judy was busy fingering herself, and seemed to barely care that Nick had walked in on her.

 

At hearing the door open to what could only be her fox, Judy cupped her fingers and made frenzied and shallow ‘come hither’ motions inside herself. The first of many came on with such startling clarity and eye-rolling euphoria that she nearly toppled over.

 

“Ohhhh yesyes yesss that’s it, that’s itttttt ahhh hnnh hhhnnnggh . . . ”

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 1       

 

As quickly as it arrived, the wave receded, leaving a still very horny and panting bunny and a completely awestruck fox. “Oh – oh thank god y-you’re here,” Judy breathed, looking up. “Lock the ahhh hhhnggh door. P-please and tha – ank you.”

 

Somewhere very far away, Nick felt his back paw push the door shut and felt his front paw throw the deadbolt closed. He began walking towards her.

 

“Good! Goo – ahhh hnnnggh Godddd– good, just set the stuff on the table,” she weakly pointed with her free paw. Nick did so, mouth now slightly ajar, his sense of smell starting to register primal commands to his hindbrain.

 

The rabbit watched his slack processing with rapidly growing impatience. He wasn’t moving fast enough for her. With a small yelp of frustration at removing the stimulus, she pulled out the two fingers she had been using on, in, and around herself, dripping with her excitement, and wiped them across the front of Nick’s nose, right at the top of his lip. After two thorough passes, she pushed both her fingers between his lips and sought out the wet muscle of his tongue, wiping her digits clean against him.

 

The combined effects were like breathing and sucking in liquid fire, invigorating to the point where it almost numbed his head and stole the breath out from his lungs. The hot, musky scent of her pussy, literally leaking with her need, and the bright, savory taste of her body sent a bolt of adrenaline and arousal so fierce it hurt, coursing down into his sheath and through his sack.

 

While Nick remained paralyzed as the predator portion of his brain analyzed the scent and taste of prey in heat, Judy spun herself to face one of the card tables. She pulled one foot out from the ring of pants and panties, noting to keep one leg skewering both articles for a semi-quick pull-up. With one leg free to move from the constraint of the clothing, Judy bent over the table and hiked up her rear. The air felt just a degree or two cooler against the surface of her bare and partially open lips. For Judy, doing so always felt so natural, so wonderfully and completely natural, so positively female and receptive that the movement and purpose of the position alone sent a hard stroke of pleasure across her bottom. If she could choose a way to engage her mate’s attention, nine times out of ten would be devoted to the FDAU method.

 

One painful, whole second passed. Nothing except the increasingly labored breaths of a bunny and fox.

 

Then another second. The coil of want was starting to wind up too tightly in her. Nick finally did something, but it was just a turn of the head to stare at her, following his flaring nostrils as if blind.

 

Again, he wasn’t moving fast enough. They were on a time crunch, and he was Not. Moving. Fast. Enough.

 

Still leaned over the table, Judy looked back and, with both paws, grabbed her butt cheeks and spread them to give her mate a wholly obscene and more complete view of her.

 

_That_ got a reaction. His eyes never left her flexing openings as his paws flew down towards his pant buckle, claws plucking at the fabric as he tried to wrestle his slacks down to his ankles.

 

Judy, now so horny that her vision was starting to blur, enticed him further with some verbal encouragement. She could feel her excitement almost starting to drip and run out from her.

 

“What? Do you really need any more incentive to come over here and mount me? Come on, come onnnnn,” she whined to him, now bouncing on her tiptoes to somehow raise her rear higher for him. At this point, her tail had resigned to become a cheerleader’s pompom, ruffling and twitching above her butthole like a frenzied flag bearer’s, trying to convey a fairly simple message.

 

If there was one of many things Nick deeply enjoyed, it was her showing him what was his and his alone. Stroking the male ego never failed to produce the desired results.

 

In this case, it absolutely worked.

 

Judy more screamed than moaned as Nick’s length pushed quickly into her and through her, right until the hot mass of his knot kissed against her seeping lips. Her whole body jerked more onto the table as his weight slapped up behind her butt and thighs and his chest briefly pressed down and over her back. The slight pain and incredible pleasure of being stretched so fully and so suddenly was quickly eclipsed by another orgasm that detonated out from the sore bud of her clit and across her whole being. Judy was beyond thankful to weather the returning storm and relinquished control of herself to scream her partner’s name over and over as he began repeatedly pulling then burying his quickly drenched cock in and out of her.

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 2       

 

“Ohhhh!! Oh gooooddddd damnit yesss yesyesyes Nick!!!” were the words Judy was able to make out before her hearing was flooded with the sound of snarling and very horny fox. Her body reverberated back against the sensory assault with almost panic-inducing speed. She felt her tunnel start spasming again around his length.

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 3

 

Within moments, the wildfire of her back-to-back orgasm subsided into a deep and rekindling burn, coals beginning to glow hotter and hotter with fresh oxygen. Finding her words, and the ability to mostly articulate them, Judy turned her head to speak to her fox.

 

“Two r-rules, babe. No oohhh ohh god damnit all thank you thankyouuuu! – N-no knotting, and you ca-ahh-n’t cum in me.”

 

His response was a clearly agitated and frustrated growl, a product of the male hindbrain being directly denied what it so desperately wanted.

 

“ _WHY?_ ” Nick demanded through clenched teeth.

 

Judy noticed his tie jerking by her side, swinging back and forth with his momentum. She reached up from the table and with one quick spin of the wrist and roll of her fingers wrested control of her fox, keeping him close as he continued to increase the speed and force of his thrusting. She now had better control of him; a fox led by his leash.

 

“Because I – I don’t have time to let you f – Fuck!! – fill me and wait while it all drips out,” Judy panted. “S-somewhere to – ohhh my Jesus – beee.”

 

Nick leaned over her, his pace of rocking in and out of her holding steady. “W-where am I supposed hnngh ahh to cum, t-then?”

 

Judy grinned and issued a small, choked laugh through her moaning. “Just let m-me know when and it’ll be f-fine.”

 

Nick growled in his frustration, but the noise gave way to open-mouthed panting when his partner pushed her hips further up, allowing his length to slip that much deeper into her starved body.

 

The room began to reek of in season violets and titillated bunny. The only sounds were their labored panting, their moans, and the wet smacking of their sexes.

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ABOUT FOX MATING HABITS: _Foxes are very possessive lovers. Should they feel that their mate is being admired or threatened in any way, foxes respond in turn. And they will make it known what their position is on the matter of their mate._

 

In the frantic haze of mid-coitus bliss, Judy felt like enlivening him. It had been a while since she had seen her mate so horny and aggressive to the degree he started acting more primitive than civilized. Well, it had only been two and a half weeks ago, but who’s counting?

 

“You know,” Judy started, “there was a buck today who – ahhh hnnngh gaaahhh! – ‘noticed’ me.”

 

His reaction nearly brought her right up to the cliff of another orgasm. A loud, very agitated snarl of aggression and possessiveness of his rabbit. Two orange limbs shot out from behind her and slammed down onto the tabletop, caging her in. Judy emitted an excited squeal at feeling his pace increase and at seeing and hearing Nick’s claws begin to easily carve trenches into the top of the cheap, wooden table. An indirect display to her that showed who was alpha to her, and who had exclusive rights to the rabbit currently being plowed on said table. Nick placed his head down alongside hers, his bared teeth at her eye level.

 

It wasn’t a yell, wasn’t anywhere near loud enough to be one. But it certainly carried the weight like one.

 

“ _WHAT?”_

Something like a truly mischievous and almost wicked smile spread across Judy’s face. He practically felt thicker upon reentering her when she managed to ruffle his cackles. His thrusts were more forceful, the head of his cock pushing deeper up into her sex. Nick’s suddenly increased enthusiasm at hearing the threat of a potential rival thrilled her to no end in one of the most basic ways. The threat of competition to keep a mate.

 

Even if any rival had a snowball’s chance in hell of competing with the reynard.

 

“Ssssmelled my heat. T-Tried to get in my pants,” she said in a faux innocent tone and letting her ears drop to her back. “Told me he could help work out sah - some stress.” She turned to meet his eyes, their vision slightly blurring and jarring from the force of his efforts against her backside.

 

“I t-told him that I was taken. I’m still n-not sure he ohhh yesss believed me.”

 

What his mouth said was, “Good thing he’s not here right now.”

 

What his eyes said was, ‘That buck would’ve rued the goddamn day had he said something like that in front of me.’

 

Nick’s face disappeared from Judy’s field of vision and her world began to jar and rock much harder and quicker. With each thrust, every quick, powerful, entrance and exit of his dick, Judy more screamed out than moaned. The heat had built to a nearly painful threshold, a beautifully sharp and focused sensation so strong that the pleasure was nearly spilling into pain. With his quick and frenzied thrusting, the pointed tip of his head threatening to push up against her cervix, her body thankfully gave way.

 

Much later, Nick would slip her a quick thank you for using the last conscious shred of willpower to let go of his tie. In retrospect, the force at which her body convulsed may have given him whiplash.

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 4

 

Her next upsurge began snapping across her body, in harsh, irregular bursts of pure ecstasy like a downed power line spitting vitriolic static. Her legs instantly kicked up and began swatting at the air as the orgasm tore through her bones and muscles.

 

Above her, Nick clearly saw the more powerful wave coming and pushed down on the center of her back, keeping the top half of her manageable. Her front arms sprung out and launched forward, fingers flexing open and shut in desperation to grasp onto anything.

 

With her orgasm, feeling her pussy beginning to spasm around his organ, Nick felt his own end being pulled right out. So he did what he normally did in these kinds of situations: he attempted to loosely hug her body from behind and made his thrusts more shallow, rolled his hips back and forth as he buried as much of his shaft in her, allowing the top and sides of his knot to become slick with her body’s fluids. Ergo, getting ready to tie himself to her. The deeply intimate movements and their implied meaning rekindled the fire in her belly to a briefly screaming roar.

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 5

 

The familiar feeling of his base wetting itself to come into her snapped Judy’s mind back into a semi-coherent state. The feeling coupled with the growls transforming into deep and guttural whines clearly conveyed the message of intention.

 

Judy snapped both of her legs inwards, found placement against Nick’s hips, and pushed away. The force, firm yet benevolent, pushed him and his member right out and away from the rabbit, just as her lips were beginning to fully open to take his knot.

 

For solidarity’s sake, at least both of them almost screamed in pure disappointment at the sudden and nearly complete feeling of emptiness.

 

For Nick, that devastatingly painful feeling of being denied lasted for only a moment. In one semi-fluid motion, Judy quickly slid off the table and onto her knees in front of him, her two paws grabbing out towards the shaking fox’s pelvis and twitching organ that was about to erupt.

 

Judy’s paws quickly looped onto his rear, and with an open mouth, enveloped his crimson length right up to the beginning of his swollen base.

 

“GAaahh! Fuu-uuu-uuck!!” Nick’s paws popped forward and resumed raking up shavings from the cheap table as Judy began sucking his orgasm out from his body with honest vigor.

 

Rope after rope of his ejaculate splashed into her mouth, against her tongue, along the sides of her mouth, and down into her throat. But the best part of her newly devoted motions was tasting the almost thick, creamy, and lightly bitter fluid polish off the excitement she had left from tip to base on his organ. She licked and swallowed and sucked to taste them both. And while one paw kept a firm hold of one cheek, the other reached down into the open folds of her sex and began applying frantic and focused circles against and around the swollen bulb of her clit.

 

Her entire body began convulsing and twitching, the movements of her attentions becoming less rhythmic and more spastic. Even with his organ in her mouth, the moans and partial screams of her enjoyment made their way out. In the haze of his ongoing orgasm, the remaining function of Nick’s conscious mind assumed it to be for him. He was partly right.

 

JUDY ORGASM FOR THE DAYTM COUNTER: 6

 

As she continued to happily lap up and drink the fruit of both her and her partner’s efforts, Judy felt the checkered flags waving for her. At least for now. Even sitting, it felt like she had just finished a personal best for the 5K, her body humming with the burning warmth of a great physical effort exerted. Far greater than any runner’s high. Thank God above for Nick.

 

Feeling the lines of his cum beginning to thin and space out between shots, Judy removed her mouth from him. Just a little more prematurely than he wanted by the sound of the small whine he emitted when she left him.

 

“God damn, Nick,” Judy exhaled against the base of his throbbing knot, “thank you so much for that.”

 

“Wha – wha . . . what in the fresh hell are you talking about?” Nick choked out, his arms and paws slowly starting to lose their accumulated tension and beginning to fall down along his sides. He looked like a kit that had just been dunked into a vat of ice water. “What . . . what’s going on?”

 

But Judy was already up, checking the time (cutting it a little close but ohhhhh so worth it), and using the towel to wipe up the natural buildup of sweat, musk, and liquid excitement that had amassed against her sex and face.

 

Doing a quick finger check, wherein she quickly yet briefly inserted two fingers up to the second knuckles into her body and pulled them out to sniff them, Judy deduced that she smelled more of sweaty bunny and less of horny bunny and horny fox. With a pinch of heat. But the musk mask would mostly cover the worst of it. Mostly.

 

Standing up, pulling up her pants, and tossing several pieces of gum into her mouth, she leaned over and gave the stunned fox a quick peck on the lips.

 

“Be ready and willing when I get home tonight, handsome,” she said between chews. “I definitely have a few more knots to work out.” Her breath was already beginning to smell more like spearmint than fox and bunny genitals. With a wink, Judy spun on her heels and exited through the rear door, bagged uniform and musk mask in paw, leaving a fox that looked eerily similar to the one who found her in the first place: mouth wide open, one eye twitching, and head spinning. And now, with pants all the way down and cock still out.

 

“I . . . have got to mammal up and marry that bunny,” he muttered to himself as he brought his own pants back up and collected the towel.

 

Upon walking back into the still mercifully empty sans owner front room, Nick physically cringed and asked himself _Why? Why the hell did you go back out the front, you idiot!?? The backdoor would’ve worked fine! Now you’ve got to say something to Hoyt!_

 

As the reynard committed to what he could possibly chalk up to his modern ‘walk of shame’, several opening lines ran through his mind’s mouthpiece.

 

_So, uhm, you might want to give your back room an hour or three to air out. It’s a little . . . ripe._

_Sorry about your table, Hoyt. It has a few new, uh, ‘definitions’ added to the surface. How’s a crisp twenty for a can of polish?_

_Say, how much of that did you hear? And how much is it going to take for you to not spread malicious rumors? My friend Benjamin Furanklin sound convincing?_

The unfortunate reality of Nick coming to a stop within a leap’s distance of the door and standing in front of the billiard hall owner came down to him with one conclusion. Nothing to say.

 

So Nick did something he hadn’t done in decades. The ultimate in rookie social mistakes during any point of conversation. He opened his mouth to say something, and nothing came ou –

 

“Told those idiots that if they’re gonna play cards in the back, they’d do wise to take their frustration out on their own furniture,” Hoyt mumbled, shooting Nick a poignant look that snapped the fox’s muzzle shut. Thankfully, Nick was still as street-savvy as he once was, and got it.

 

Nick grinned like an idiot, shot Hoyt a wink that practically screamed _THANK YOU_ , and walked out into the streets of the city, now looking for a way to kill the time till a very horny bunny came bounding back into his arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT GUYS AND GALS I RECEIVED MY FIRST EVER FANART! Completed by the truly incredible and unbelievably talented skeletonguys-and-ragdolls and Thewyvernsweaver!!!! To both of you, again, i just cannot stop staring at it and grinning like a mad idiot. Thank you so much!!!
> 
> I have begun down a dark path with all this E-rated smut. . .


	9. Go Ask Finnick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy, separately, seek Finnick’s advice on how they should approach each other about the new challenges of living together. A stupid, funny, awkward, and endearing ‘young seeks the old’s advice’ story. And an ‘old fucks with the young’s head’ story. 
> 
> Author’s aside: I love Finnick’s voice and his syntax, for what limited screen time he is given in the movie. And I personally feel that there aren’t enough Finnick-centric stories out there. So here’s maybe one for that pile. Maybe another staring the fennec fox will appear one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Drummermax, for proofing and editing this piece and for your help in bringing it up to snuff!

Finnick stared into the burning sight of the desert. He inhaled, feeling the blistering air coat his windpipe and fill his lungs. The acrid and dry smell of hot sand sparked a note of melancholy in him, one that reminded him of a home long abandoned on a far away continent. One he quickly banished from his mind’s eye, because that was neither here nor there. Here, the fennec fox stared at one of the biggest artificial deserts in the world, nestled in the east side of Sahara Square. The closest thing he had to an actual home he felt so attuned to.

 

His plan was to have a nice, quiet day, sun up to sun down, away from the city, away from hustling. The fox felt that he was in need of a day of rejuvenation and reflection. Just himself, a six-pack of Corona with ice and lime wedges, a burlap bag of live bark scorpions dusted in red chili powder, and two packs of Silk Cut Silvers. Yes, he had indulged for today. The only thing missing was a vixen or two, but at night, he would saunter over to his favorite dive and see what the moonlight revealed. Maybe then and there he’d find those missing pleasures.

 

But that was later, and this was now. Finnick had the day to kick up his feet and just bake himself in the heat and feel the sand in his paw pads.

 

Finnick was set up at the end of a parking lot that bordered the desert, his van doors wide open and serving as both porch and vista for his view. He had one beer opened and a scorpion ready in his mouth when he heard the gate of a mammal approaching what could only be him and his van. As the mammal in question drew near, Finnick sighed, finally recognizing the gait.

 

“Shouldn’t you be busy moving in with your new roomie?” Finnick turned his gaze back to the sandscape.

 

“Already finished moving in yesterday,” Nick replied, coming to a stop next to the fennec fox. “Judy Hopps and I are now roommates.”

 

“Okay . . . ” Finnick drew out, hoping that his lack of engagement and interest would end the conversation faster.

 

“And it’s . . . new,” Nick continued, his speech a little slower now. “Different. But all in a really good way! And different.”

 

Finnick raised his eyebrows in way of commenting, taking another sip of beer and popping in another scorpion. They maintained their silence for a moment.

 

“Hey Finn, how much do you know about rabbits?” Nick asked. Finnick sighed.

 

“C’mon man, don’t do this to me. I don’t want to be your personal shrink. Today’s my day off,” Finnick groaned.

 

“Oh right. Completely forgot about your very strict nine-to-five, tax-paying, 401k-contributing job, Finn.”

 

“Ah haaaaaaa lookit you, tryin’ to be funny. I need a personal day after hustling from sun up to sun down, and I don’t want to spend it by spelling out ‘rabbit’ for you.”

 

“Aw, now here I was thinking we were friends,” Nick chided him. “And don’t friends give each other advice when it comes to new experiences?”

 

“I’ve never fucked a friend that was also a rabbit, so you’re on your own there,” Finnick growled.

 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Nick tried to maintain his response back, but the slightest aura of ‘caught and guilty’ was evident in his voice.

 

“Becoming a cop, you’ve lost just a little bit of your edge, Wilde,” Finnick chastised. “So don’t you dare think you can lie to me. You do, and I will stonewall you.”

 

A pause in their conversation. “Fine.”

 

“Good.” Another sip of beer.

 

“So, I think it wouldn’t be too weird if I asked her to dinner now that we’re roommates, right? That’s a good way to test the waters.”

 

“Jesus, what are you, fifteen?”

 

“If it means that I don’t fuck up the best relationship I’ve had my entire life, then yes, I will play it as safe as can be, safe enough to pretend to be back in high school,” Nick responded.

 

Finnick knew what this relationship meant to Nick and wouldn’t call him out on it unless it was dire. And as it stood now, to the fennec’s understanding, it was not dire. So Finnick rolled his eyes and replied, “You didn’t even graduate from high school.”

 

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Nick retorted.

 

That got a grin from the smaller fox. “Yeah, yeah fine. Listen, just don’t be weird about it, and I’m sure she’ll say yes. You can feel it out on the date if she really is interested. She’s the one that asked to move in together with you, so that’s in your favor. I’d say you’ve got a chance.”

 

“Thought so,” Nick said in a painfully self-assured manner. “Thank you, o wise mammal. You’re a peach.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Finnick waved Nick off, “go be a hopeless romantic somewhere else.”

 

~

 

It was starting to approach midday. The sun, along with the artificially heated climate of Sahara Square, was starting to produce significant heat. The air and horizon began distorting in wobbling waves. The rising temperature brought a smile to Finnick’s face. Made him feel like a mistress made of flame was smoothing over his fur.

 

Again, he heard another set of footsteps clearly moving towards him and his isolated van. These were much lighter, the steps falling closer together than Nick’s. Because of the wind, there was no discernable scent to detect and recognize until she came into view.

 

“Ms. Hopps,” Finnick greeted, “good to see you.”

 

“Hi Finnick!” Judy waved back, coming to a stop at the side of him. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

 

Finnick waved to his set-up, indicating that he was not moving. “Whatchu need?”

 

Now, Judy’s paws began working over each other as she spoke. “You know Nick and I moved in together, right?”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“Uhm, I was hoping to get some inside advice. On foxes. A-and in particular, on Nick,” Judy explained.

 

Finnick shrugged, making a note of how wide her eyes went when she mentioned the red fox. “Ask away.”

 

“Well, not to come off as insensitive or anything, but, uhm, well,” Judy searched for the right words, eyes darting left and right. “You know what? I’ll just say it. We’re at that point in our acquaintanceship, right?”

 

“Sure, works for me,” Finnick answered.

 

“Nick smells,” Judy stated, “Strongly. And the scent has already permeated the living room and kitchen of our apartment. Like, our apartment now reeks of fox. But not like, B.O., just – you know – just of fox.”

 

Finnick stared at Judy for a moment. The rabbit seemed completely serious and clearly thought it best to run this bit of information by a habitual smoker, drinker, vixenizer, and con artist.

 

“Sweetheart,” Finnick started, tone that of patience and knowing, “you ever lived with another male before?”

 

Judy shook her head, and Finnick nodded at her response.

 

“Little tip about cohabitating. Males stink. We sweat more than you do, we produce musk, our piss smells strongly, and we are only a little proud of it,” Finnick explained. “That, and he is a fox. A pred. Makes sense that he stinks more than other bunnies. If it bothers you that much, I’m sure musk mask will at least cover some – ”

 

“No! No, that’s – that’s not the issue at all! I’m not bothered by it,” Judy quickly waved with both paws and backtracked. “It’s actually kinda . . . uhm, nice, almost like really – uh, pungent – violets, if that makes any sense. Not that it’s weird in any way, or whatever. Just, you know, it hits you like a brick wall every time you come in from outside. And I was wondering, do you ever get used to it?”

 

Finnick shrugged. “It’s natural for us. For me and for him, it’s a way of seeing who’s been where. I’m sure with time you’ll acclimate, but because you’re a bunny, and you’re a female to boot, it’ll probably always smell a little . . . ‘ripe’ of male fox in your new apartment.”

 

That produced a very wide smile across Judy’s face. “Okay! Thanks Finnick!” And with that, the bunny turned and proceeded back into the city.

 

Finnick returned to his beer and his scorpion snacks. _I think it’s high time for a cigarette_ , he thought.

 

~

 

Finnick had just finished fitting a lime wedge into his Corona when he heard a familiar sounding gait approaching him.

 

“I return for more of your invaluable counsel,” Nick said in mock appreciation.

 

“Stop being a kiss-ass and just ask whatever you could have Zoogled. Then get outta my face,” Finnick said.

 

“But where’s the fun in that?” Nick shot back. “Besides, Zoogle has been known to spread misinformation. You never know if what you read online is the truth.”

 

“God Almighty, you almost make me want to lie to you,” Finnick sighed. “What do you want, Wilde?”

 

Nick did not immediately answer, so Finnick took the opportunity to take another soothing drag from his cigarette and a mouthful of beer. His momentary bliss was interrupted when Nick finally collected his thoughts and formed them into words.

 

“Do you know if bunnies are into polygamy or monogamy?”

 

Finnick waited for the punch line, waited for the fox’s mouth to draw into a shit-eating grin. But neither arrived. Wilde, it seemed, was completely serious.

 

“What a day to start my new ‘teaching’ job,” Finnick muttered. “Your roommate know you’re out here using me like your own personal Dr. Phil?”

 

“God no. I have a reputation of control and intelligence to maintain around her.”

 

Finnick rolled his eyes. And then the idea hit. Wilde was practically forcing him to lie. It was so good it made the fennec think about smiling. Not actually smiling, though. An entire life of conning taught him the value of letting slip an actual smile.

 

“You know, I’m actually gonna have to charge you for that info,” Finnick started. “I’d feel taken advantage of, giving away something free when it really was worth the money.” Finnick held out an open paw.

 

Nick crossed his own. “Bullshit. You really don’t know.”

 

“Comin’ from the fox who trekked a half an hour just to ask me for – what was it – my invaluable counsel? That’s good, Wilde.” Finnick turned to gaze over the living portrait of the desert, paw still outstretched. “Poor bastard, don’t even know what you’re getting into.” Finnick let that all sink in. And after a moment, the knife of the insult found a sore spot. A crisp twenty was placed into the fennec’s paw.

 

It was quickly pocketed. “Yes, I do actually know if rabbits enjoy lives of monogamy.”

 

“Oh, that is such a relief to hear,” Nick started. “For a minute, I could have sworn that I once heard that – ”

 

“If, being the key word there. Wilde, bunnies are all about having a variety to choose from,” Finnick deadpanned, tilting down his sunglasses to meet eyes. “They’re into fucking each other’s brains out. And I mean with as many partners as possible. Why do you think there’s so goddamn many of ‘em? They’re busy fucking every new bunny they meet. Just a damn conga line of bunnies mounting each other. That’s why they got them clubs, you know, like that exclusive one, down on Rosemont? You and I both know for a fact they sure as shit ain’t dancing in there.”

 

Finnick didn’t actually know if said club on Rosemont Avenue hosted such events, but he did know it was exclusive to bunnies, and that was solid enough of a foundation for him.

 

Finnick popped the sunglasses back onto his muzzle, sending home the effect. Nick just stared, mouth slightly open and eyes wide and twitching. “If I was you, and was planning on lockin’ that bunny down, I think you need to politely inquire about what she thinks is a ‘happy and healthy’ relationship. Cause it might mean that you’re one dick of many for her.”

 

“Oh . . . Shit . . . Oh God,” Nick stammered, paw going to massage his jawline. “I – I can’t do that! I can’t be one of many! I want it to be just me! Ah Jesus, how on Earth do I approach that topic??”

 

“Doesn’t matter if you want to be the one and only,” Finnick scolded him. “Whatever floats her boat is what floats her boat, which means you gotta live with whatever lifestyle she chooses. If you really feel the need to inquire, just gently prod around the issue, don’t go right for the jugular. You of all mammals should know how risky a move like that is. Just . . . politely ask about the relationships in her family. She’s got like, what? A hundred siblings or something? You’re bound to find out what kinda relationship she wants after hearing what’s fine and normal in her house.”

 

The next bit was pure improvisation genius. “You know, and this I will admit I heard only on the grapevine, but have you heard about bunny housewarming parties?” Finnick drew out.

 

Nick slowly turned to him, shaking his head.

 

Finnick mocked shock and attempted hidden concern. “Ohhhhhh. Uh, never mind, Nick.”

 

_And in three, two, one . . ._

 

“What?” Nick asked, voice beginning to drip with urgency. “What about bunny housewarming parties??”

 

_Wilde, you make this too easy. Bein’ a cop_ has _made you soft._

 

“Wellllllll,” Finnick started, rubbing the back of his head, “goin’ off the whole ‘more the merrier’ theme of partners, I heard they like to invite a whole clan over to break in the bed. And the furniture. And each of the rooms.”

 

Nick’s entire body and face went slack.

 

“Hell, kinda everything, really,” Finnick shrugged. “Your new home’s gonna stink like naked, horny bunnies. And not just of the one you want to bang.”

 

Nick was already speed walking away, paws combing through the fur on his head.

 

“Remember,” Finnick called out to the red fox, “approach with caution and respect! And don’t assume nothin’! Hear it from her own lips!”

 

Finnick smiled and threw two scorpions into his mouth. What a salty and lively taste the venom gave them. More so when one managed to sting his tongue. You just couldn’t beat that. Thank God the prey majority hadn’t outlawed eating insects.

 

_Boy, I wonder if rabbits actually do have orgies . . ._ Finnick thought _._

 

~

 

“Hey Finnick,” Judy called out, approaching the van and its now internally moaning passenger. “I’ve got another question for you.”

 

Behind his sunglasses, Finnick closed his eyes and answered, “Shoot,” hoping that this would be over quickly.

 

“So, about fox partnering habits,” Judy began. She immediately stopped at seeing one small albeit clawed digit held up.

 

“One disclaimer,” Finnick said. “Do not compare me to that idiot. If he did something stupid, that’s all him.” Judy, clueless but honoring whatever it was Finnick was talking about, nodded. Finnick motioned for her to continue.

 

“Well, I was wondering what the ‘ideal’ type of relationship is for a red fox,” Judy started, ears folding back behind her head.

 

“And why do you want to know that?”

 

Judy didn’t answer verbally, just physically. She gave a shy smile and looked to the ground. It was painfully genuine; honest, even.

 

_I can’t fuck with her like that,_ Finnick thought. _She’s too much of a marshmallow for that_.

 

“Red foxes, if we’re talkin’ species as a whole, prefer monogamous relationships,” he told her. “And despite what a dummy Nick is, I promise he is a good, loyal fox.”

 

“He is such a dummy,” Judy agreed, now smiling with all of her face, “and I love him for it.” The bunny said it all with such genuine endearment and sweetness Finnick swore he felt a toothache coming on.

 

_Oh great, I heard it first,_ the fennec thought to himself.

 

“Why do you wanna know?” he asked.

 

“Personal research,” Judy succinctly responded with a small and clever smile. “And, kinda on a tangent, but it got me thinking because Nick was asking really strange questions about bunny relationships.”

 

Finnick’s eyebrows went up. _Oh fuckin’ A, that idiot actually bought it._ “Do tell.”

 

“Well, he started off by asking what kind of relationship my parents have, then my married siblings, then my unmarried siblings, then any siblings who were old enough to date and single, and then about me.”

 

“Whatchu tell him?” Finnick actually leaned in.

 

“The truth,” Judy said simply and a little lost for words. “Told him that all were of the standard pairing, a few gay couples, sleeping around and experimenting when young and single. Mom and Dad have been with each other for years, happily so. No real serious fights or things like jealousy or the threat of other good-looking bunnies in the mix. And that I’d currently be searching for the ‘right somebody’.”

 

Judy looked up to a corner and her voice went up an octave when she said ‘right somebody’. Finnick just nodded.

 

“And then he asked if I had any plans to have a housewarming party,” Judy continued, eyes now furrowing in concentration. “Which is strange, because I really didn’t want to have a housewarming party. In fact, I never even mentioned the idea of one. Just a nice, quiet evening with Nick when the dust settled was more what I was thinking.”

 

“And do tell, what would a bunny housewarming party look like?” Finnick asked with a straight face.

 

Judy shrugged. “I don’t know. Snacks? Beer? Touring other mammals around our home? Said mammals giving us house necessities? Like waffle makers and candles? That’s what those are, right?”

 

Finnick shrugged back. “Wonder why he was askin’ you all that?”

 

Judy’s eyes narrowed and she looked at the ground, putting one paw to her chin in thought. Suddenly, her eyes widened, just a little. She turned back to Finnick.

 

“You know what, I actually think I know why. And I am so stupid for not thinking of it earlier!”

 

_Ah. She’s got it._ “Spill.”

 

“There’s a stereotype about rabbits being a bunch of horny mammals that like to, uhm, engage in relations. En masse,” Judy tried explaining, as if the much older Finnick had never once, in his entire life, heard of the horny bunny stereotype. He didn’t bother correcting her at risk of derailing where this was surely heading. “I think Nick may have heard that stupid rumor and was trying to be polite and indirectly ask me if such a thing is true. Oh my god . . . I bet you that was it!”

 

A moment of silence in their conversation. “Well? Is it?” Finnick asked.

 

Another moment of silence. His heart actually jumped at seeing Judy’s eyes go up to a corner and her body rock on her heels. “I mean, it’s not common . . . but, yeah, you know. There are certainly . . . certain groups and crowds that are into it, but I think the majority aren’t, my family and I included.”

 

“Wait,” Finnick set his sunglasses down and looked directly at Judy. “You are really telling me that some rabbits organize gang bangs?!”

 

Judy felt a warm blush run down her ears. Never thought she’d be having this discussion with Finnick. She nodded. “Eeeeyup. I mean, that bunny exclusive club down on Rosemont Avenue and Seventeenth, The Burrow, they actually host those kinds of ‘events’ where a whole bunch of rabbits travel in and, well, you know . . . ”

 

In her mind’s eye, Judy recalled witnessing several unbelievably explicit scenes she thought only belonged in the realm of fictitious pornography. If ‘sexual hedonism’ had a definition in the Webster’s dictionary, it was written with The Burrow as the provided example. She shook her head to banish the lurid thoughts.

 

“Judy,” Finnick started, trying so desperately not to laugh at this fucking crazy coincidence, “I’m not one to judge, and I promise to never speak of this, but how do you know about The Burrow?”

 

Judy began rubbing her arm. “When I first moved here, I was kind of desperate for company in the form of something familiar. Other bunnies. Only, at the time, I didn’t know about The Burrow’s reputation and specialties. I thought it was just a rabbit-only place for other bunnies to come and hangout . . . ”

 

“And you were only looking for a friend,” Finnick said through a wide smile.

 

“And they were looking for an entirely different definition of a ‘friend’, ” Judy replied, exhaling and shaking her head. “Not my cup of tea, per se. And that was my one and only experience with The Burrow.”

 

Now, Finnick was free to openly laugh. “I can only imagine you walkin’ in there hoping to find a new pal and finding a whole horde of naked bunnies wearing masks, asking to join in the ‘group massage’!”

 

“Oh God,” Judy closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s scary how closely accurate that was.”

 

An idea formed in Finnick’s mind. Sure, he wouldn’t rag on Judy too hard, but surely another innocent prank at Nick’s expense couldn’t hurt anyone.

 

“Yeah, holy shit that is rich! Say, speaking of bunny housewarming parties, you know that foxes actually have their own little moving-in ritual?”

 

His honest delivery, coupled with the assumption that he had no reason to lead her astray, had Judy fully interested in his question. “No way! Tell me! Nick hasn’t mentioned anything about that!” The poor thing was actually excited.

 

Finnick grinned. He popped in another scorpion.

 

~

 

The sun was beginning to set, casting a fiery orange glow over the sands. Finnick was down to the last beer. At least before dinner.

 

The sound of angry footfalls approaching him brought a smile to his face before hearing the sweet accusation from Nick Wilde.

 

“You told her I was going to piss on everything?!” Nick yelled. “That I was going to scent mark every surface and piece of furniture in our apartment?!”

 

Finnick couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed so hard. Oh, wait. He could. The time when Judy blackmailed Nick into becoming an honorary cop with a sticker badge stood out. God, he could get used to having them serve as comedic relief from the world.

 

“Well, it’s not that far from the truth!” Finnick exclaimed.

 

“Bullshit!”

 

Finnick wiped the tears from his eyes, and in one second, became deathly serious. “Don’t you ‘bullshit’ me, boyo. I still remember that one time you got so fucked up you went streaking through the streets and lifted a leg to piss on the side of my van.”

 

Nick’s fury vanished and his embarrassment doubled at the recollection of that particular memory.

 

“You still better be sayin’ your entire rosary once a night for that,” Finnick pointed one clawed digit at him, “cause if you had done that on the inside, on my shag carpeting, I woulda castrated you myself. And how many rosaries I said were needed until you were completely forgiven?”

 

Nick sighed and answered like a teenager caught red-pawed and dejectedly giving up. “Till my dying breath.”

 

“Goddamn right, ‘till your dying breath’,” Finnick reaffirmed. “There’s only one mammal allowed to piss anywhere near my van, and you’re looking at him.” After a drag on the current Silver between his lips, Finnick continued, “Cannot believe that she believed me. You shoulda seen the look on her face when I told her.”

 

“Oh, I did, you prick,” Nick hissed. “I spent the better part of half an hour explaining to a very panicked bunny that scent marking with piss is such an old school kind of behavior and that no one really does that anymore. Let alone I, and let alone that I’d dare do that to her bed. _Which you specified!_ ”

 

“Well, I can think of a few examples of mammals still doin’ it,” Finnick said in nonchalance. “The Lion’s Den bar down in the Nocturnal reeks like cat piss.”

 

“Of course it does. They practically brag about how much fun it is to open their flies, spray, and mark everything but the ceiling down there,” Nick grumbled. The pair stood in silence for a moment.

 

“At least tell me you took the opportunity to try and convince her into letting you piss at least on one surface,” Finnick led.

 

Nick smirked, his anger slowly deflating. “Alright, alright, yes. I did convince her that I get to mark at least one area of the apartment and I’d learn to live with that.”

 

Both broke into laughter. “And she agreed?!” Finnick asked.

 

Nick shrugged. “Yeah, surprisingly. She actually agreed that I could pee on the outside wall of the apartment building. Just so long as I didn’t do it in uniform.”

 

Finnick shook his head. “God bless that bunny for putting up with your dumb, weird ass.”

 

“You’re telling me if the roles were switched you wouldn’t have done the same?”

 

“I never said that.” Finnick took another drag of his cigarette.

 

~

 

_Two weeks later, same set-up for Finnick, kicking back and relaxing in the loading area of his van, taking in the scene of his favorite sand-swept mistress._

 

“Hey Finnick! I hope I’m not bothering you, but there’s something else that’s been on my mind regarding Nick,” Judy started out. She sounded serious, more so than what had been last time’s arguably more carefree banter, so Finnick swallowed his disappointment at the interruption of his privacy and faced her.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“So, I don’t want to come off as a snitch or a whiner, but I have another question about fox’s – well, Nick’s – behavior. Just . . . something I’m not sure is a species thing or a Nick thing. So I want some insider info before I confront him and either start up an argument or a misunderstanding.”

 

“What that idiot do?” Finnick questioned.

 

“Nick went into my room,” Judy began, “and I definitely did not say that he could go in.”

 

“And you knew this . . . how?”

 

“Left the apartment, door was shut, room smelled normal. Came back, room was still shut, but my room smelled strongly of fox.”

 

He waited for her to finish, but that was where Judy Hopps stopped her description. In one sentence, it seemed that Hopps had just laid out the entire issue. Finnick stared at Judy, trying to understand the supposed problem she had just presented.

 

“I’m sorry . . . the problem is . . . that he was in your room when you did not give him permission to go in your room?” Finnick spelled out. Judy nodded, her face a mask of worry.

 

A connection formed in Finnick’s mind. “Judy, however you bunnies live together, you need permission to go into anyone else’s room, don’t you?”

 

She nodded. “Yeah! Isn’t that the norm when you live with someone?”

 

Finnick opened his mouth slightly in lieu of announcing that he had just found the disconnect between the fox and the rabbit.

 

“I guess it is when you move in with another bunny. Foxes are a different matter,” Finnick began explaining. “So, I take it you think that you two ‘own’ half and half of the apartment, right? You each get your own room to yourselves and everything else is shared evenly, yeah?”

 

Again, Judy nodded, ears now pivoted completely forward and eyes locked on the small fox. A pupil eagerly listening to the teacher.

 

“That’s not how it works with foxes. When two foxes move in together, they each own ‘everything’, you get me?”

 

Judy slowly shook her head, eyes pinching in worry.

 

“So, you have your room, and that, to bunny customs, is yours and yours alone, right?” Finnick said. “But, once you moved in with a fox, it is no longer just _your_ room. It is also _his_ room. Still yours, but not exclusively yours.”

 

“W-why?”

 

“Because it’s his territory,” Finnick explained. “While it is your space, it is also _his_ space, you get me? He’s male, he’s a fox, and under any roof he lives in, it is considered his territory. Yours is just included under his. Normally I would try and spare your delicate feelings – ”

 

“I do not have delicate feelings!” Judy retorted, putting both of her fists firmly to her sides.

 

“Yyyyyyeah, okay. Listen, not to downplay your ‘strong and capable’ feelings or undermine your status in whatever relationship you two have goin’ on – ”

 

“Still friends,” Judy quietly interjected with a sullen pout.

 

“ – but that is just what it is. It is no lack of respect, Judy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just the way we’re built. It’s a system of trust, of mutual assurance. So it’s no surprise to me that he went into your room. Now, I wouldn’t worry about finances or jewelry going missing, because that’s not at all his reason for going in there,” Finnick explained. “He’s just . . . checkin’ it all out. Getting a lay of the land. What’s the word? A . . . cursal? A cursing . . . no, that’s not it . . . ?”

 

“Cursory?” Judy tried filling in.

 

“Yes! A cursory glance of your room,” Finnick continued. “Just checking on his space. Which is still yours. But also his. And that’s all it is. Hell, by all accounts, I think you have the same right to go into his room without askin’. And I can practically guarantee that he will have no problem with it. Even if you ain’t a fox, you still living with him. Makes you fox enough in my book.”

 

Finnick let it all sink in, watched as Judy thought and reexamined all of provided information. She looked quite serious; now, Finnick could see the police officer in the rabbit.

 

“So,” Judy started, “he’s not doing it to be a jerk or because he’s a jerk.”

 

“Nope. Not unless you wanna label all foxes as jerks, because we have a tough time letting go of old habits,” Finnick casually mentioned.

 

“Okay. Alright.” Judy pondered more. “Yeah. Okay, I – I can live with that. It’ll be a change, but, I’m fine with Nick going into my room. Just so long as he doesn’t burst in when I’m sleeping.”

 

“He _is_ still a decent mammal,” Finnick patiently reminded her. “He won’t be a creep – ” Finnick was going to continue being honest, but once more, the golden opportunity of pulling one over her head presented itself and the fennec just couldn’t resist.

 

“ – unless you tempt him otherwise, of course,” Finnick led on.

 

Judy’s attention came back to him. “What do you mean ‘tempt’?”

 

“Well, he is a male, one that is currently single and searching,” Finnick said, popping a cigarette into his mouth, taking note of Judy’s sudden interest at the words ‘single and searching’. “And while he is a great guy at heart, like any male, he thinks and acts with two heads, if you catch my drift.”

 

“Oh. _Ohhhh!”_ Judy caught on. “I . . . think I get what you’re saying. Soooo, don’t prance around in skimpy outfits? Like sports bras and running shorts?”

 

“That, and I wouldn’t leave out dirty laundry on, let’s say, your bed. Not unless you want a very horny fox running around your apartment.” Finnick had meant for the comment to be more in jest – a joke – than an actual possible reaction. He had expected her to laugh it off.

 

He had not expected the silence. Judy was not laughing. Judy just stared at him, mouth parted and pupils dilated. Her fists were up at her face and covering her mouth.

 

“Finnick,” she slowly asked, “what uh, exactly does a ‘cursory’ glance around my room include?”

 

Finnick shrugged. “Nothing invasive. Just checking out the furniture placement, seeing the décor, maybe poking his head into the closet. Sniff around. He’s not going to go rooting through your drawers or cabinets, if that’s what you’re askin’. Anything in plain view will be lightly investigated, and anything that is covered or in a drawer will be left as is.”

 

“How about ‘sniffing around’ the dirty laundry I left on the corner of my bed this morning??”

 

Finnick stared at the bunny. “I’m sorry, laundry? What, you worried he’s gonna be bothered by how sweaty you are?”

 

“Uhmmmmm . . . ” Now, finally, Judy was at a loss for words to say. And then it clicked.

 

_Oh,_ thought Finnick. She was talking about used underwear.

 

_Oh._

 

The fennec shrugged. “Well, it _is_ in plain view . . . yeah he might check that out.” He expected her to turn away and bolt back towards her apartment, towards the obvious ‘tempt’ she had left out to save herself the embarrassment. He was slightly hoping for it so he could let out the now painful laughter held up in his chest.

 

However, Judy Hopps only seemed to ponder the situation. She now didn’t seem bothered. Just . . . curious. Thoughtful. “Huh. Alright, thanks again for clearing that all up for me, Finnick.” And with that, she started back towards her home. Slowly. As if in no rush at all.

 

~

 

_One week later . . . finding a certain fennec fox under similar, if not exact, circumstances as previous . . . yes, Nick and Judy are still dancing around the issue of admitting feelings/sexual tensions with each other._

 

Judy took a seat on the fender of Finnick’s van. Glancing over, she had a certain, determined, and kinda terrified look in her eyes.

 

Finnick had seen the look too many times before. He wordlessly grabbed a beer from the cooler, cut a lime wedge with his claws, and placed them in Judy’s paws. She immediately began chugging the beer, stopping only when the bottle was nearly empty. Looking at the remainder in the bottle, Judy shot it all back.

 

_She’d make a great drinking buddy._

 

“If you need help gettin’ rid of a body . . . ” Finnick whispered through a mouthful of cigarette smoke.

 

Judy snapped out of her daze and spun to face him. “WHAT??!!”

 

“Nuthin,” he quickly smoothed over, “just looks like you shoplifted for the first time and don’t know how to feel about it.”

 

“I . . . have done something that I am . . . sliiiiiiiiightly conflicted about.”

 

Finnick was completely unphased by her confession, considering that the whole ‘hide a body’ thing was not at all out of the realm of possibilities for him. “Whatever it is, knowing you, I promise I won’t judge or squeal – ”

 

“I left a tempting thing out for Nick,” Judy quickly blurted out.

 

Finnick raised one eyebrow. “What the hell do you mean ‘a tempting thing’?”

 

Judy’s voice went down a few decibels. “I . . . left a pair of underwear on my bed today. Kinda on the assumption that he’d go into my room and see them.”

 

Finnick shook his head, still not entirely getting her. “And . . . what, exactly?”

 

Now, Judy whispered, “I, uhmmm,” Judy grabbed another beer and drank half of it before answering, “I wore them all day. Annnnd worked out in them . . . for a few hours beforehand . . . ”

 

Both of Finnick’s eyebrows went up. “Ohhhh.” Then he grinned at her. “Lookit you, a cop setting up entrapment for another officer of the law.”

 

“Eeeyup,” Judy said in a so-so tone, realizing that Finnick wasn’t currently videotaping this to blackmail her nor railing into her with insults regarding her ploy. Then, a quick and sharp smile split across her face. “And he took the bait!”

 

Finnick, for his short stature, was up in a startlingly quick moment, mouth open in laughter and delight. “You are shitting me!! You _know_ he sniffed it?!”

 

Judy broke into a fit of nervous giggling, nodding and covering her face with her paws. “Oh My God I can’t believe I went through with it! I left them in my room, left, and then came back, and there was the lightest scent of fox on them!”

 

Both were holding their sides in laughter. “Holy Shit! Tell me you’ve got something in mind to use this against him!”

 

Still smiling and laughing, Judy shrugged and said, “Best plan right now is to just confront him about it.”

 

“That’s it? You mad at him?”

 

“When this is the outcome I wanted going into this?” Judy shot back. “More like thrilled. And flattered.” Now, she was picturing the ideal confrontation for her handsome and nosy fox. She might take another beer for the walk back and confront him without any pants on.

 

“You two panty sniffin’ creeps,” Finnick teased. “I don’t suppose you could tape the confrontation and give it to me? I’d be willing to pay up front, in cash, to see that idiot stumbling over himself at being so careless.”

 

Judy threw a very – _very_ – mild punch into his arm. To her delight, he accepted it with a hard grin and an eyebrow waggle.

 

“Thanks for listening, Finnick,” Judy admitted. “It’s really nice having a confidential source for these kinds of fox related things. And, you know, thanks for not making fun of me and seriously calling me a pervert, either.”

 

Finnick raised both brows at her. “Sweetheart, you think _that_ makes you a pervert?” He broke into laughter and exhaled hard to show just how mild he believed it to be. “Why don’t you go back to The Burrow and ask them for a few lessons in _real_ perversion.”

 

“Oh God!” Judy actually winced and shuddered. “Nope. No. No way. Not my cup of tea, thank you.”

 

“Go confront that horny idiot and tell me all the details later,” Finnick told her. “You can leave out the, uh, more ‘private details’ that I’m sure will happen when you catch him red-pawed.”

 

Judy grinned so hard she bit her lip in excitement and bounced off, eager to speak to Nick about his ‘transgression.’

 

“Kits, man,” Finnick muttered through a small smile. He took another drag of his cigarette. The way this was going, he was being set up by the both of them to be the go-to source for what could humorously be called ‘parental life advice.’

 

He could get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love your comments and thank you for reading!


	10. Try Everything; Try Carnivory (Mesocarnivore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the events of Chapter 6 (Avivore), the couple’s design begins to gradually evolve into something more. Over the course of this evolution, Nick and Judy try something erotic with food, engage in increasingly sinister eating practices, and come to a deadly revelation about themselves and their relationship’s unique pathology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DrummerMax for his wonderful proofing abilities as always! And thanks to Erinnyes who recommended to me the idea that is firstly utilized in this chapter, the motif to kick it off. Nick will tell us what it is.

“It says here the official practice is called ‘nyotaimori’,” Nick read to Judy from his phone. “Says you have to be naked.”

 

Even though she wasn’t facing him, Judy practically felt the wink and smirk aimed at her with his delivery, which still produced a smile on the rabbit. She turned away from the fish and patiently deadpanned, “Nick. We’ve been over this. If you ever want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask. Or use those claws and teeth of yours to undress me.”

 

The fox feigned surprise, putting both very clawed paws up at his face. “Really! It’s that easy?” Judy heard him pad over to her, stopping at her back. She inhaled and stopped her meal prep at feeling his lips, then his teeth, smooth out against the back of her neck. Right against the raised ribbing of her spine.

 

“C-careful,” she warned with eyes shut, “wouldn’t want to slip and cut myself, would we?” Judy held up the knife in one paw, still dripping with fish blood and viscera, for demonstration.

 

“Hmmm, so you say, my bunny, so you say,” she heard from him as he took a small lick from the back of her neck up to between her ears, “But something tells me you wouldn’t mind a little knick. Always one for ‘sharp ends,’ aren’t we?”

 

Judy giggled in guilty confession and continued sawing open and pulling apart the tuna. Nick’s apartment was beginning to smell strongly of fresh meat and blood, and it smelled so . . . appetizing. So comfortable yet exciting. Both of their stomachs growled as Judy began laying out several strips of ruby red tuna, still wet and somewhat swollen with blood.

 

Running a cooking brush over the cuts and coating them in sesame oil, they had finished preparing sashimi for their dinner. All they needed now was a serving plate.

 

“So,” Judy said, setting down the knife, licking the viscera from her fingers with enthusiastic greed and turning to face the fox, “tradition ‘dictates’ I go in the nude?”

 

“Well, wouldn’t want to get any more of your robe dirty,” Nick shrugged. But again, the grin on his face betrayed how thrilled he was that he was getting to see her naked.

 

That, and it was just part of their game. Of course she was going to get naked. It still excited him all the same.

 

Judy, the grin splitting across her face to a wider and wider cut, rolled her shoulders, and down fell the bathrobe. Underneath, her entire body was slicked down and still dripping in sesame oil, so much so that she was leaving small bunny footprints of oil around the kitchen. One of the perks of being a small mammal in a big city was having access to things like ‘elephant-sized cans of sesame oil.’ Plug the tub drain, start pouring, and you had yourself an easy way to marinate a rabbit.

 

Something both of them made private note of.

 

Sitting at the kitchen table, Nick lightly tapped the countertop twice in lieu of saying ‘come on over.’

 

Bringing the small tray of filet cuts over with her, Judy handed them off to her partner and hopped up on the table, lying down and face up, legs and arms barely spaced away from her body.

 

“Tradition also says that you aren’t suppose to move at all,” Nick said as he began laying the strips of fish on top of her fur, putting two strips over her nipples, one strip over her belly button, and the thickest piece over her mons and down across the barely visible pink lips of her sex. “Also says you can’t speak, but where’s the fun in that?” He dangled one piece of raw fish over her mouth, which opened at the prompt, and he gingerly fed in the ribbon.

 

“So I think it’s fair to say that if you move anything more than your mouth, game’s over, you get dressed, and we eat like normal, civilized mammals. Deal?”

 

Her hesitation at the strict set of rules showed in her face and in her tone. “What if I start getting ticklish or whatever, even for a moment, and then go on to keep pretending to be your serving platter? I get at least one free pass, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well, I don’t think you’ll call it quits if I – ”

 

“I will walk right out the door and go to the diner.”

 

Judy looked absolutely scandalized by his threat. He sounded completely serious. “You wouldn’t . . . ”

 

“I would. I’ll even save you a seat at the counter when you come trudging in after me, stinking of fish and oil,” Nick taunted back. “A predator must be strict in his eating discipline, Carrots. And the prey must remember that sitting still has been a tactic to avoid hungry predators for all of our brief time on this rock.”

 

Judy huffed and crossed her arms, making sure to leave space between the cuts of fish currently lying on her chest. “Still . . . what kind of deal is that?” she pouted. “If I didn’t know any better, Junior Detective, I’d say you get a kick out of tormenting me.”

 

In one moment, the joking, too cool for school Nick Wilde vanished. The fox that replaced him was the far more dominant kind. The predatorial archetype of a fox that favored sexual prowess and utilized natural predatory strengths.

 

“You are right, Officer Fluff. I do get a kick out of watching my prey squirm.”

 

Judy opened her mouth to retaliate, but went completely rigid. The rigidity included the breath stopping midway out of her lungs on account of her windpipe being squeezed.

 

An open muzzle, one full of beautifully white and extremely sharp razors, clamped firmly on her neck. Not enough to completely force her throat shut, not enough to break the skin, but enough that her body momentarily responded as if it were. Within a moment of no breathing and no further aggression, Judy found the will to force her inhalation to happen. She practically choked at feeling the muscle of his tongue smooth over her neck, examining how much fur there was until he’d meet skin. Her fists clenched and her toes curled hard enough to buckle up her knees.

 

Mumbling against the taught sinew and short fur of her neck, Judy heard Nick tell her, “No more interrupting. The fox is _hungry_.”

 

So Judy canceled out any thoughts of rebuttal and stayed motionless, her heart starting to hammer a little harder against her ribs and a little louder in her ears. With the releasing of the pressure around her throat came a halfway controlled exhale, followed by the

 

_now quickened_

 

sounds of her breathing. Staring up at the ceiling, and knowing that moving her head would count as an automatic FAIL, BACK TO REGULAR BORING AS HELL DINNER, Judy chanced swiveling her eyes, following the head of her partner as he slowly gazed up and down her body.

 

Her fur briefly parted and smoothed away with each bat of air as he inhaled and sharply exhaled against her, as if searching for something.

 

“While the oil will make the sashimi better,” he told her, not once sparing a glance to meet her limited range of vision, “I am starting to wish I had you go and work up a sweat.”

 

_Of course,_ she thought, _sweat to make the fish saltier. And to taste like prey. To taste like me._

 

“Next time,” Judy whispered. “Definitely next time.”

 

“Next time, we will do something more mutually satisfying,” he said.

 

“What could be more muAHHHHH!” Again, her yell tapered off into an immediate silence at feeling something painfully sharp stab into her thighs. By instinctive reflex, she looked down to see Nick biting her. Again, not enough to break the skin, but more than enough to let her know he, a hungry predator, was there.

 

The sensation spread out across her skin with static ferocity. When he slowly released her, strands of translucent spit briefly connecting his canines to her fur, she asked, “Why did you do that?”

 

“Because I wanted to see how much stress I could put on the fotableware.”

 

Judy almost missed it. But a moment later, replaying the last word in her mind, she got it.

 

_Food. He was going to say food._

 

It should have made her worry. It would have made any sane mammal, any sane bunny, worry past the point of anxiety and into true fear for her life. Should have, but did not. It produced a nervous and exciting tightening in her stomach that spread and dissipated through her sex, a smile on her face, and a buzzing sensation in her temples.

 

Nick moved his head back up her body, eyes darting up down left right center this way that way looking at every crease, every curve of her body and the patches of hair that stood up as the oil receded down from the follicles and towards her skin. The light scent of the oil was beginning to mingle against the more powerful scents of her sex, her sweat, her anxiety.

 

The aroma sent something erotic and borderline horrific across his psyche and down through his flesh, a maddeningly strong pull of

 

_Hunger_

arousal. His muzzle came up to the small mound of one breast, where one piece of rosy red tuna was draped. His tongue snaked out at the base and began to drag upwards, catching the tuna and smoothing over the erect teat.

 

Judy’s response was more of a gasp and swallow than a moan. She wanted to move, to twist her tit into his muzzle, to offer more of her to him and tell him to pay her more mind than just a serving platter for his food.

 

_You’d want to be his food._

 

A quick and small shake of the head to banish the thought when she heard Nick say, “I didn’t just see you move, did I?”

 

Now sure to move only her mouth, eyes locked forward and to the ceiling, Judy responded, “I thought foxes were supposed to have keen eyesight. You tell me.”

 

He didn’t reply. His breathing stopped. Still staring up to the ceiling, not wanting their game to end, Judy could only hear the minute sounds of the fabric of his shirt moving against his fur. Nick had stopped breathing.

 

_Because he knows bunnies have acute hearing it’s in his design to vanish from his prey like that_.

 

A painfully sharp and thrilling sensation splintered out from her nipple, and Judy could not help the anxious gasp or her body from slightly bowing up towards the stimulus in order to reduce its ferocity.

 

Nick growled at her as the pearly razor blades in his mouth slowly pinched down on her nipple. With each ounce of pressure applied, her body inched higher and higher off the table. The moan that crawled out from her mouth was more desperate and pathetic than empowered and confident. More like prey than predator.

 

Without warning, Nick suddenly released her from his captivity, and her body, still humming from the electric wave of strident pleasure she was riding, came back to the tabletop. Her chest, and one other piece of sushi on her other breast, heaved up and down as she struggled to maintain her breathing and cease the urge to shake and start running her paws to her sex to keep the rhythm going.

 

But the desire to keep the game going longer

 

_Further_

 

kept her body still. The other piece of sashimi on her bust was picked up, this time into thin air and away from her sense of touch. The piece came into view as Nick lowered it into her open mouth.

 

_Yup, has a bit of a salty taste to the one side of the cut. I should have tried leaving the bones in for a bit of crunch._

 

“Because you’re being such a good serving platter, I just can’t bring myself to call it quits because you flinched,” Nick told her, claws trailing across the fur on her taut stomach and drawing loose crop circles in the oil-soaked fur. “Tell you what, I’m willing to give you leeway, and if you twitch because you just can’t help it I won’t take my business elsewhere.”

 

“What a kind fox,” was her sardonic reply. “I’m half tempted to say that hurt.”

 

“A part of me tells me that you’d like it more if it did hurt. You can always tell me to stop. You know I will.”

 

_Why on Earth would I want that?_

“Can you feed me another piece?” Judy asked instead. Again, she felt the cool air flutter against her stomach as another strip of tuna was pulled off her abdomen and craned over to her open mouth.

 

As the piece slid across her tongue and her teeth began tearing apart the tuna, Judy saw Nick staring, eyes not watching her face, but her mouth. His lips were beginning to peel back over his teeth.

 

She knew – not thought, _knew_ – it was a sign that he was about to do something predator-esque. Something dangerous.

 

Nick picked up the second to last piece of sashimi that was draped across her navel, pushing down lightly to coat one side in oil and sweat before picking the piece up.

 

“What would you think of me if I made this piece taste more like rabbit?” Nick asked, examining the cutlet with unblinking eyes.

 

Her thought and response matched.

 

“I would only love you more if you did.”

 

She inhaled at feeling something foreign, something kind of like a cold and lifeless tongue detached from the skull, press into and against her folds, rubbing upwards and barely massaging her bud.

 

Judy couldn’t stop the scandalized look she gave Nick as he slowly opened his mouth and fed in the strip of tuna a la rabbit. The wet sounds of his lips smacking together, combined with the sound of his teeth so effortlessly dicing and tearing apart the strip, sent a tense shudder of arousal through her body.

 

“Would it scare you if I told you how you taste?”

 

They both knew that this question had only half to do with their sexual preferences.

 

“You certainly wouldn’t scare me,” Judy breathed. “I probably taste good?”

 

“‘Good’ comes nowhere close,” Nick whispered back, pupils thinning and head dipping back to her body and now staring at the last cutlet of meat. One piece draped right across the top of her venus.

 

Judy chanced looking down between the small hills of her cleavage and over the even smaller tuft of her dewlap at the predator, now motionless, staring at the last piece of food.

 

When he spoke, it was a decibel above a whisper, a dark secret meant only for her to hear. “I wonder what it would taste like . . . if this was attached to you.”

 

Her mind came to a white noise filled blank, devoid of reasoning. She didn’t have to ask for clarity – she fully knew what he meant – but did anyway through a now very panicked breath. All other thoughts except for him and his design were gone.

 

“Attached?”

 

“To your body,” Nick muttered almost to himself, “strapped to your bones with your sinew. Filled with your blood and your life.” Head still above her pelvis, his emerald slits rolled up and locked onto her eyes.

 

Her answer should have shocked them both. It would have absolutely horrified any other party, predator or prey, that could have heard it. But it didn’t really surprise either of them. Both knew, on some level, that this entire exchange, the way their entire relationship was headed . . . this was the direction it was only going to go. Maybe it was just eventual. A rhythm evolving into a dance known only by the two dancers.

 

“It would probably taste even better,” Judy muttered, “if it was _attached._ ”

 

“ . . . Probably?”

 

Looking at each other’s reflections in the dark pools of their pupils, both clearly saw the only answer.

 

_Definitely._

 

Nick snarled and, in a frighteningly quick motion, bit down on the tuna sashimi above her sex and tore up, bringing the cut of meat with him in his shaking maw. In the sudden ferocity of his lunge, he miscalculated the distance. His front canines went clear past the tuna, to her body.

 

The sounds of sharp teeth ripping apart flesh filled the room.

 

Judy convulsed and screamed. And continued screaming his name. A moment later, her body began vibrating as an orgasm as slick and hot as boiling oil washed through her entire body.

 

After a few minutes, as something barely akin to passable calm settled over the pair, they would realize three things in rapid and finalized succession.

 

One. While his canines had passed the sushi and gone to her body, they hadn’t pierced the mound of her venus, but had instead grazed past the fur and across the skin, hard enough to leave four, light red lines etched into the surface. Sharp enough to scratch the skin, but not enough downward force to draw blood. Marks, but not scars.

 

Two. The sounds of Nick ripping apart the cut of sashimi was a napalm bomb of aggression and sexual adrenaline for them both.

 

And three. On top of points one and two, point three summarized that they both were now very, very hungry.

 

Their design was becoming something more.

 

~

 

The raccoon dog called Itamae by his family and ‘chef’ by every other mammal who bothered to ask watched with piqued interest as two of his best customers entered his restaurant. A petite female rabbit and a slick-looking male fox. Tipped with generosity. Sometimes asked for preferential treatment, including buying out a table or two to ensure an empty house. Preferred privacy (see previous note). Came in around the middle of the night (again, see previous note). The raccoon dog suspected their consistent desire for their dining arrangements went paw in paw with the noticeable bond of intimacy between the two.

 

But he never asked or inquired. Wasn’t that kind of relationship. Not that the chef ever sought conversation with any of his patrons. Waste of everyone’s breath, in his opinion. Most were lucky to hold his attention beyond taking their orders and observing the initial taste to ensure satisfaction. But these two? They were good customers. Paid well. Consistent. Polite. Never bothered him, except to offer compliments or even criticisms.

 

Which, strangely, he enjoyed their criticisms. Never an attack of his cooking – he would have long seen them out with knife in paw if that had ever happened – but suggestions. Questions. Ponderings. Things he only answered with careful consideration and either nods or shakes of the head. Criticisms that only made him _think_.

 

Itamae liked that. They were the type that pushed and questioned. They tried to read between the lines. They were _novel._ They had such novelty in their _designs._

 

The fox, Nick, was dressed in a fitted three piece. Tie looked to be worth an entire meal’s cash equivalent. He had cunning eyes. Eyes that saw an uncomfortable amount. Eyes that made others uncomfortable. The reynard also looked hungry, pupils thinning then filling and nostrils flaring as he scanned the empty restaurant floor.

 

The rabbit, Judy, was in an elegant small dress that hugged her body enough to show off the curve of her hips and a shawl that came down the arms to her wrists. Upon the first time she entered Itamae’s restaurant, UMI, the raccoon dog noticed the typical prey expressions. Caution. Worry. Hesitation. But there was also something new with her, something so very novel to her kind.

 

Curiosity. Genuine interest to explore.

 

Tonight, Judy looked reserved, mouth held in a lady’s kept line and eyes ever so slightly hooded, but the rabbit held the same gaze as her partner. Confident. Knowing. In control. Hungry. Both were holding paws.

 

Itamae noticed that particular aura about them. For a rabbit that was clearly fucking a fox, and doing God knows what else, she seemed exceptionally okay with the arrangement. No outward signs of paid affection, abuse, or worse. And judging by the way the fox sometimes fed her, in front of Itamae no less, the chef found it difficult to believe that a rabbit who was so eager to eat from the canid’s paw could possibly be there against her will.

 

The duo sat directly in front of Itamae at the sushi bar. Nick reached into his jacket and summoned a dark bag, filled with liquid. A bladder with a sealed release valve.

 

The chef took a guess on the contents, and said nothing.

 

Along with passing the bag to the chef, Nick included a small wad of rubber-banded cash.

 

“We are trying something new tonight,” the fox whispered to the chef, nodding to the bag. “Turkey blood. Harvested earlier. You wouldn’t mind gently mixing that with soy for dipping, would you?”

 

Itamae looked at the bag, then at the couple. He nodded, pocketing the cash. He also noted the wide manic smile that split across the rabbit’s face when he agreed to use their provided material. The fox, somehow, looked even more enlivened with the agreement.

 

“Excuse me, Chef?” the rabbit piped up, her face now looking anxious on top of excited. “There’s something else we’d like to try tonight. Are you trained in serving fugu?”

 

There was a resounding silence. The chef’s brow furrowed at processing the challenge. He issued a snort, went into the back, and returned with a now very agitated and still swelling puffer fish, seawater dripping from its rounding body.

 

Placing it in front of the clearly pleased couple, the chef summoned a special carving knife and began working.

 

_Was he trained in serving fugu . . . ? Ha. Was the Pope Catholic? Does a bear shit in the woods?_ Well, he couldn’t really say the latter phrase anymore, speciest views and derogatory sayings being so unpopular and all.

 

Again, had the clear goad been accused by anyone else, he would have been showing them the door with said knife. But not them. Not the first couple that had just asked to dine on the meat of the most poisonous animal on the face of the earth. Not an interspecies couple with such beautifully carnivorous appetites, and the ones that were trusting him and him alone to prepare one of the most challenging of dishes.

 

Any small nick of the flesh, any microscopic drop of clear toxin from the fish that spilled anywhere it was not supposed to go, and the chef would be forced to speak – one of his least favorite activities – to an operator. A mistake would mean he would need the operator to contact two separate families about the passing of two mammals.

 

The raccoon dog did not want to bother wasting the effort to speak. He’d rather use that energy to display his talent. Itamae began preparing their meal.

 

Something more peculiar about them. Both took an avid fascination in meal preparation. The fox Itamae understood. It was their nature to enjoy such things, their predatorial nature to enjoy and relish in the acts. But the rabbit? That was new. She was the same as the reynard: just as much vested interest in watching every stroke of the knife and part pulled and cut out and sawed away.

 

After an hour’s worth of delicate prep work, making sure that neither of his best customers would die under his watch, Itamae presented their dish to them. The white meat of the fish had been cut into two dozens slices, the corners a milky white and the centers so thin they bordered transparency.

 

The cuts were arranged like flower petals, partially overlapping in tightening circles. A deadly orchid of the flesh, carved opened and laid bare for devouring.

 

All three gazed at the culinary dare with reverence.

 

Then Itamae saw something entirely new. Entirely unique to the dining pair, its complete and full meaning lost to Itamae but hinted enough for him to grasp the sudden tonal change of their evening.

 

Both rabbit and fox, taking one slice of fugu in their chopsticks, looped arms and presented the other with their food. They locked their eyes in an unblinking gaze.

 

“Don’t call the ambulance if either of us gets the unlucky piece,” the rabbit told the chef. Itamae looked from the rabbit to the fox. Neither met his gaze, nor deterred from their partner’s, nor blinked.

 

_A dare over eating and dying. Till death and upon the act of death. How exciting._

 

Itamae shrugged, then nodded once. Up, then down, and back to center. He watched as both fox and rabbit bit down on the fugu and began chewing, all while holding each other’s gaze.

 

Two waited, and one watched.

 

The vastly pared down effects of the remaining poison, the lethality of the toxin removed by Itamae’s vigilant attention, began to seep through the pair. A cold shiver prickled across both of their bodies. And after a minute of watching their hairs stand on end, the fox and the rabbit smiled at each other. Death would not be tonight. At least not for them.

 

Itamae opened the bag they had given him earlier, intent on adding a few drops of soy and wasabi. The smell that filled his head upon opening the bladder froze him. It both confirmed his suspicions and made the hairs on the back of his ankles and neck go rigid.

 

It was blood. But . . .

 

The chef looked to the pair, who both sensed his stare and met him, smiling. Through the grins, the fox told him, “Like I said. Taken from a turkey. You understand, don’t you.” Not a question. A statement. A statement that almost carried the implied weight of a threat. Almost. It certainly conveyed a desire for understanding.

 

Itamae understood that it was blood, but it was not turkey blood. It smelled more than bird blood ever could. This smelled more . . . alive. Far more intoxicating and salty and, in some terrifyingly similar manner, familiar.

 

Far more _novel_.

 

The chef opened the valve and poured a small puddle into a cup, adding a small drop of soy and barely a shred of wasabi. Just enough of both secondary ingredients to only add strength to the blood’s profile.

 

Nick and Judy took another piece of fugu each and dipped the edges in the dark liquid. Again, they held eye contact and fed each other their respective pieces.

 

Their faces, their bodies, changed upon feeding each other. Something so private and so intimate, that for a surprising change of his normal demeanor, Itamae actually felt the skin of his face heat up at seeing them, feeling almost embarrassingly voyeuristic at witnessing something so reserved and meaningful between them.

 

Both Nick and Judy sighed, as if realizing a harrowing divide was passable, as if realizing the strength of their bond. Both of them licked their lips upon tasting the cuisine and Itamae actually heard both of them _moan_. The kind of moan that was reserved for very blissful and very private pleasures.

 

For the first time in his career, Itamae averted his gaze and looked at the tabletop as the pair slowly leaned into each other and kissed. The chef made no move to interrupt. He knew that in a minute they would polish clean the platter of toxic fish.

 

While making a point to not look at their heads, he could still see their arms. Judy’s one arm snaked up to pet the side of her lover’s face, and in doing so, the shawl that covered her arms slipped down and away.

 

There was a padding of white bandaging over the crux of her arm, where her forearm pivoted into the elbow. It was the same kind of puffy, white bandaging with tape used to patch over a wound.

 

The ideal spot to draw a bag’s worth of fresh blood from.

 

Itamae watched as they stopped kissing and resumed their eating, each dipping the fugu into the blood, making sure that each piece was dripping crimson. They looked almost manic while they cleared the plate. So incredibly happy. Ecstatic. The couple didn’t speak with words, but with looks, too engrossed in eating and not wanting to waste a single moment speaking when they could be living up to their designs.

 

Itamae knew there was a reason he liked them so much.

 

It wouldn’t surprise him when a little later they asked for the bag back and poured themselves two glasses until the dripping from the valve stopped. It would only mildly surprise Itamae that the rabbit finished her glass just before the fox did. But just by a single gulp.

 

Itamae, rare for form and only for a moment, smiled.

 

_How . . . novel. How exciting. Like an artist’s beautiful design becoming something more._

 

~

 

Judy sat on a downed tree in the middle of a forest, someplace between the unknown and the uncared for, hours from the city of Zootopia, and well away from any other mammals; living, moving, visiting, or otherwise. In front of her, a small fire warmed her outstretched paws. With her, a small cooking kit that had been previously used.

 

Overhead, roosting in the branches, a dozen or so crows waited with solemn patience. They had finished picking apart the carcass Nick and Judy had left them from over an hour ago. What remained, what little edible parts remained, was now for the insects.

 

Nick had gone back into the forest, disappeared into the canvas of lines and parallels that was the trees and scrubs. He left the rabbit by herself, approximately three miles from the campground parking lot and their rental. Left her in such an old forest, with its silence and its bottom feeders.

 

He left her alone with the fire and the still dripping skeleton of a turkey, feathers strewn about and ants shaving off whatever bits were left from its bones and inedible organs. So it was only her, the crows, and the ants. From predator to scavenger, awaiting the return of a fox.

 

Listening to the ruffling of the crows’ feathers and the crackling of the fire devouring the kindling and wood and the ghost of the wind slithering through the branches and trees, Judy eventually picked up the sound of something trampling lightly through the underbrush towards her.

 

Nick came to her, out from the green and brown color palette of the forest, orange with accents of cream, naked as the day he was born, with two grotesquely ugly things hanging and kicking from his mouth.

 

Two young turkeys, chicks that had begun to put fat on their bones and started growing muscle around their legs, squawked and squirmed in his mouth. Nick was completely unperturbed by them and their efforts to escape.

 

Coming to a stop in front of her, he skillfully dropped one on the ground and immediately pinned it to the earth with one paw. In his jaws, with a few well-timed pull-ups and readjustments with his teeth, Nick bit down on the other chick’s head until teeth met teeth and the second chick’s head was only tethered to its body by a few thin and stubborn filaments.

 

Blood began pumping from the severed arteries, running down his maw and the bird’s body.

 

He dropped the dead – or nearing dead – turkey chick in front of her, next to her feet. The smile he gave her when he looked back up at her – bright, cheery, proud – made her heart swell to the threshold of almost making her want to cry in joy.

 

Her mate, so happy and relieved to provide for her, delivering her one of his kills, fresh from its mother’s once vigilant watch. Only the calculating part of her mind wondered if the mother was the pile of bones, sinew and feathers that the crows were now finished with. The emotional part of her physically displayed itself as she leaned forward and connected noses with him, humming in bliss as way of thanks for the food. Nick’s snout smelled like cinnamon and raw meat.

 

“This is for you,” he told her, motioning to the screaming chick still wriggling and trying to escape out from under his clawed paw. Her eyes went wide and the excited feeling ricocheted around in her gut. Nodding his head to the chick with the growing circle of crimson around it, Nick further clarified, “And that’s for me.”

 

Ahead, the crows began churring and yelling at each other. They knew what was going to happen.

 

So did Judy, to her silent delight as the thrill of anticipation bolted through her bones.

 

Without any prompting, Judy knelt down, coming almost to eye level with the kicking chick, the ugly matting of its immature brown plumage frayed in all directions from sheer stress and terror.

 

Judy doesn’t move, except for her eyes. They watch as the head whips left and right, twisting and trying to turn to attack the orange paw holding it flat to the soil.

 

She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits, and strikes. Her teeth, aided by her enthusiasm and strength from the muscles of her jaws, allow her buckteeth to easily split past the skin of the neck. Its flesh is hot. Within moments, even hotter blood, salty and tasting akin to cinnamon, began gushing down her throat.

 

With a hearty _CRACK!_ , she effortlessly broke the chick’s neck. Its pudgy body went limp under his claws. Within a few moments, basking in her mate’s proud approval of her kill and with a desperate, almost choked sound of pure joy, Judy held the body down with both of her paws while she hungrily dug into the kill.

 

The adult turkey they had earlier had been great, but it was missing the one key ingredient. It had been dead when she sunk her teeth into its body. Now, her metamorphosis was

 

_almost_

 

complete. For now, the taste of life being torn free with her teeth and swallowed into her body sufficed plenty.

 

Nick smiled and followed suit with his own catch, ripping off the entire left leg of his bird, skin thinning and parting like stretch plastic. Blood splattered over the pine needles. Overhead, the crows observed the feeding in silent and greedy approval.

 

Far later into their evening, as the sun was nothing more than a fiery orange glare across the horizon and spilling through the tops of the trees, the pair walked in silence, paw in paw. After cleaning her face of blood and viscera with eager laps from the much longer fox tongue, Nick told her that he had discovered a small clearing. A patch with only shrubs and weeds, a loose circle where nature had yet to completely fill in one of its abhorred vacuums.

 

The hunting pair came to a stop at the ring, partly on instinct’s cue, and partly on complete and total surprise. It was never advisable for predators to openly announce their presence to the world, even if they were, for the moment, full.

 

In front of them, in the sky above the clearing, a black miasma was shifting and warping against the red tinted evening. Nick had absolutely no idea what it was, and was only planning on showing Judy this previously vacated spot because he wanted to watch the moonrise with her. Judy, to even her own mild surprise, actually did know what they were witnessing, and said it aloud.

 

“Starlings.”

 

“What?”

 

“Those are birds called starlings,” Judy said in a lowered voice, as if normal speaking volume would scare off the immense and otherworldly show happening before them. What the behavior was called was slowly coming to her, slowly and with grinding impatience and irritation.

 

“And what they are doing, what they are . . . is called a murmuration,” Judy completed, giving a nod of the head at feeling the word dislodge from the cognitive cobwebs. “A murmuration of starlings.”

 

“I’ll take ‘words I never knew existed for one thousand, Alex’,” was her partner’s remark. But the humor and verbal know-how was instantly re-eclipsed by them being engrossed in the rare spectacle.

 

Nick made a small sound of disbelief and amazement next to her. They watched the mass warp and fill and spread and thin and thicken in all manners of shapes and without any discernable endpoint or cause. Both watched as a noticeably larger black speck, one that flew with a steadier course than the smaller starlings, came into the fold.

 

The murmuration formed a hollow bubble around the intruder, and the flock, staying within its relative bubble, tried to keep the larger speck bullseyed and away from any other starlings.

 

This time, both mammals knew what it was.

 

“One hawk going up against what has to be about a few thousand starlings,” Nick commented. “I like his moxie.”

 

“You think he’ll catch any?” Judy asked.

 

“Don’t know. They’ve got him tagged as the threat and they’re all doing a really good job at keeping him at wings length. If a fox and a rabbit can catch and kill turkeys, I don’t see why the hawk won’t be able to catch a measly little bird.”

 

The pair watched the hunt unfolding.

 

“Do you think the hawk would be more successful if he had a partner?” Nick asked her.

 

She felt her body go numb. It felt like soon she would float away, up and away from who she once was. The smile that split her lips conveyed something otherwise. Something beyond what she may have once felt. That was no real surprise. Judy Hopps was now an entirely different mammal than the bright-eyed creature that arrived to Zootopia by train.

 

“Yes,” Judy answered slowly, “although that would be going against its nature. Hawks are solitary hunters.”

 

Her partner laughed, a brief and hard exhale of air. “Yes it would and yes they are. But becoming a hunting pair would only benefit both hawks, wouldn’t it?” Nick turned to her, pupils beginning to dilate. She could see her reflection in the onyx pits of his eyes, a rabbit in a dark sea she was going to soon completely drown in. The sea she would happily just drop into, to command her arms and legs to stop kicking and just _drown_.

 

“Imagine,” he purred to her, “all of the tasty starlings the hawks could eat. They would even be able to take on another _hawk_.” The word ‘hawk’, and his issuing of the word, produced a thin line of drool from the edge of his maw. It was allowed to flow with the cresting of his wide smile at seeing the unbridled joy in her face.

 

She turned to face the spectacle still taking place in front of her, all of the hairs on her body standing on end and her mind spinning and running forward in full force with what her mate had just offered.

 

On some level, at the most basic template of her id, Judy Hopps knew that this was only eventual. It was the only way their relationship could have possibly progressed. Someone very wise and very odd once said that everything’s eventual. It was only just. Whatever remained of her dead prey conscious had transformed into a warped and permanently static white noise that hummed and vibrated whenever Nick and her ate, whenever they let their designs take the reigns on their behavior.

 

Always, in all of their past carnivorous endeavors, the both of them had one paw on those reigns. Keeping some ounce of civility within their fingers. Now, they were going to let go entirely.

 

The thoughts began pouring out of her. The mind began calculating. The predators planned.

 

“This can only be between us and the prey,” Judy stated.

 

Nick nodded.

 

“We have to be efficient.”

 

Nick nodded.

 

“There cannot be any room for error. No mistakes. None whatsoever.”

 

Nick nodded.

 

“No matter what,” Judy told him, taking his paws in hers, feeling his paw pads and his claws, “we have to – ” Judy paused, trying desperately to find the right word, the best word, the only word that could describe how to . . . “ – covet. Regardless of what happens, Nick, we must _covet_ them.”

 

With a carnivorous grin and predatory eyes, Nick nodded. This time, with a little more enthusiasm in his agreement with her. “I agree completely. It’s only just,” he whispered back, the honesty and truthfulness dripping from his voice.

 

The look he gave her was both familiar and foreign, traces of something established and something new. The look of deals made between mates that was sealed with much more than just verbal promises. Within moments, they were naked and rutting under the stars and the rising moon, the rabbit on all fours and the fox mounting over her. No words were exchanged, no ‘you are wonderful’s’ or ‘I love you’s’. Just moans and yelps and growls and screams as she came, the fox finishing their mating by tying himself to her.

 

The crescent moon above them looked on, like an eyeless grin, a Pagan God of the Hunt approving of them, their partnership, and their pact.

 

Their design was becoming something more. Something more terrifying than ravenous crows and grinning moons. Their design was going to become something insatiable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	11. Try Everything; Try Carnivory (Lagovore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy go hunting for live prey and come into their respective designs. Or, my bizarre homage to the great author Thomas Harris and to the genius Bryan Fuller.
> 
> A very honest and tall thank you to both Drummer for his editing skills and for turning this around in under 48 hrs and to Erinnyes who helped - so very long ago - flesh this sonuvabitch out and pushed me to continue writing it. This corpse of a story needed blood and organs and Erinn was happy to grab a shovel and go grave robbing with me to help jumpstart putting it together. So i say again, thank you both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When the fox hears the rabbit scream, he comes running. But not to help."
> 
>  
> 
> And speaking of screaming: Jesus Christ and a Birchbark Canoe!! Check this out!! My friend and artist Leon crafted this absolutely beautiful and arresting portrait of two mammals that have taken their designs into a very dark and primal place. Not that either of them seem to mind, though. Someone's design can certainly be gorgeous, if not for how dangerous it can also be. Much like this work of art, for example. Thank you so much again, Leon!!  
> https://lgarniger.deviantart.com/ <\-- this is where you can find Leon

~

A rabbit awoke to a world of confusion. He felt something cold and irritating against the whole of his back. He was looking upwards.

 

A life of living in the sticks as opposed to the city put his mind in the correct frame of reference within seconds. The scent of damp earth. The sight of black pillars with large and uneven thorns; trees that rose from the peripheral of his field of vision, reaching for the sky. The muted off-white colors of the cloud cover. The silence.

 

Robert Wells sat himself up and immediately regretted the move, hissing air between his buck teeth at feeling a sore ache in his left paw explode into fiery pain. All else aside from the hurt was lost.

 

Forcing his clenched palms open, Robert looked to see something white, red, and grey. Two of those things were not like the other, and those two things did not belong on his paw.

 

“You . . . fucker,” he hissed. Correction: those two things did not belong _in_ his paw.

 

A safety pin, holding a white and red-stained piece of paper, had been pierced to the meat of his palm, like a receipt pinned to a freshly laundered suit. The needle had been run through the side of his outer palm, which was now caked in dried blood. Robert bit down on his lip as he unlatched the pin, the muscle of his palm pulling with the needle.

 

“Sonuva . . . Bitch Son Of! A! Bitch!” he screamed, pulling the needle free from his paw. Two bubbles of dark red swelled on the side of his paw and began running down his arm. The smell of blood elevated the pounding in his head and chest.

 

His first instinct was not to examine the paper; the world at large was more pressing. Robert crumpled the parchment up in his not-so-bloodied paw. Looking around, he watched with a removed and mild astonishment as his reality set in.

 

He was naked.

 

He looked across his bare arms and down his stomach to his crotch. The cool air made his genitals pucker up and tuck into his body. His toes curled in reflex at the sensation.

 

He was alone. Looking around him, his only company was the trees and the undergrowth. He couldn’t smell anyone else. The sensory feedback both alleviated and concerned him. What concerned him was that he couldn’t hear anything either. No sounds of the world he normally woke up to every morning. What he was hearing was not moments of silence scattered around the sounds of other mammals, nor the sounds of cars or trucks or powerlines or generators.

 

It was complete and uninterrupted silence.

 

He had no idea where he was. Nothing looked familiar. A sick feeling began creeping in the pit of his gut.

 

Rob stood up, seeing that there were no spare clothes left around for his benefit, and after spinning in circles, trying to find his bearings, began tentatively walking . . . forward, if the chosen direction could be forward. Towards more trees. Towards more scrub and undergrowth. Towards more dirt and no signs of his clothes or his wallet or phone. Towards more silence.

 

His head felt light, and the world seemed to float and lightly shimmer. It kinda felt like that high he achieved when whacking off with a belt pulled taut around his neck. Only now he was sure he was coming down off of something other than that, and he didn’t know what –

 

Robert stopped walking. Some birds sang for a moment in the high distance before returning to radio silence. He stared at the ground but was seeing nothing but black. His lips parted open for a word that wasn’t coming. The world now _felt_ quiet. The low squirming in his gut began to writhe a little harder.

 

He was coming down from . . . ? Blank. What was he coming down from? The question should have led to an answer, and it only led to ________________. Nothing. Blank.

 

The mind’s default run-through flew on. The light ether swimming around in his head warped into a dull ache. Robert shut his eyes and forced the projector reel of his memory on. It took actual effort to recall what he had done last night. Carefully, slowly, painfully, he retraced his steps after getting off his shift.

 

He got changed, went to McCoy’s, grabbed a beer, smoked a Newport, and ____________________. And ___________________.

 

Nothing. The reel of his mind’s eye flew off the spools, snapping and spinning in the air. No picture on the screen. No feedback to the audience.

 

Just ___________________.

 

His breathing quickened. Robert Wells couldn’t remember how on Earth he went from clothed and drinking at the bar to naked and lost in the woods. Maybe he had been drugged. He wouldn’t know what being on the receiving end of that felt like though. Just the administering end.

 

Robert looked around again. Maybe this was an elaborate prank, with his tormentors hiding just out of sight, trying to hold back their laughter.

 

_Fuck it,_ he thought. _The moment I hear anything, the moment someone comes out telling me ‘it’s just a prank,’ that someone is going to swallow their buck teeth._

 

“Hello?” he asked the forest. The forest responded with silence. And then a bird chirping. At least this place had those, sporadic in their noise as they were.

 

Rob tried again, this time putting a little more volume into his word. “Hello!?”

 

Now, the silence that answered him fell over his body like a blanket soaked in oil: damp, too hot, and sticking against every inch of his being. Robert heard nothing. No rustling of pine needles or leaves. No snickering. Nothing except the faint ghost of a breeze snaking through the tree branches.

 

Alone. He had been dropped off, naked and without any of his things, in the middle of God-only-knows-where, and he was completely alone.

 

His fists tightened, and the sound of crumpling paper caught in his ears. A little louder than it really was. The forest was having that effect.

 

Rob looked down at his palm and the paper he was white-knuckling into a ball. He had forgotten to even look at it, let alone remembered that he was holding something. The buck unfolded the parchment, wiping fresh blood in small smears across it. Careful consideration be damned. Working his fingers had stopped any meager coagulating at the wounds in his palm, and he was not about to wait around and examine this evidence with dainty patience.

 

He read.

 

The wind picked up and rustled the chimes of the branches and their leaves, their scratching sounding close to a rattle.

 

He reread the note. Felt his mouth go dry. Tried to make a joke about it that died the moment he opened his lips. Robert was too afraid to say anything, to make any noise that would disturb the silence.

 

It read:

 

THERE IS A PREDATOR HUNTING YOU.

WHEN IT FINDS YOU, IT WILL KILL YOU. IT WILL EAT YOU.

BUT FIRST, IT MUST CATCH YOU.

 

IT IS NOT ALONE.

 

Brushstrokes and spots of blood were smeared across the lettering. It looked like a horror movie prop, only it actually smelled like injury and death and likely

 

_definitely_

meant disembowelment and being eaten alive.

 

Robert looked around. Looked at the note. The thing that was now stinking like fear and blood. A beacon. Something that highlighted a bleeding rabbit, alone and lost. He balled it up and pitched it behind him. Looked at his bloodied paw. He began walking, trying to keep himself from breaking into a full sprint and watching where his feet fell. He avoided small twigs and dry leaves if he could help it.

 

He did not want to make a sound. Nothing that could alert something hungry to his presence.

 

For all he had to worry about, the patient drip                 drip                 drip of his blood onto the ground and leaf litter was something Rob had little control over. He tried to cover the wounds on his paws, but the movement and added squeezing of his fingers kept forcing the red out and off his short fur. After a few minutes, moving forward towards anything other than silence and a hungry killer was all that mattered.

 

~

 

One fat drop of Robert Wells’ blood landed square and center on a maple leaf. Long after he had passed, it lay and spread out across the sharply cut edges, deepening the reds and fully exposing itself to the world, the bittersweet scent of fresh blood mixing into the air.

 

On that particular evening, only one other mammal besides the donor would ever come across that exact drop of blood. It came trotting out on all fours from the heart of the forest, completely naked, and went straight to the drop. It was hard to miss. It smelled so sweetly of rabbit.

 

The predator put its nose down, hovering above the blood, and inhaled. Then shuddered in the anticipation of sating its hunger, mouth opening and a trail of spit freely flowing down onto the leaf, onto the blood.

 

_So sweet. So very sweet._

 

The predator looked up, inhaled, and followed the scent. The animal had to consciously remind itself not to sprint after the bleeding rabbit. Wells would be there, at the end of the trail of his own blood, naked and given to the forest and to the hunter as was intended. That was the beauty of this forest and the cycle that it so cleanly fostered.

 

An old process - one of life becoming and life ending - that the woods had fostered for eons. She probably missed the feeling of such nurturing, after the world had become civilized and decided to abandon her.

_How arrogant. How cruel. And how wasteful to let fresh meat go to waste._

 

~

 

The clouds darkened. Broad brushstrokes of grey were beginning to blend away the white. The air felt a few degrees too cold to be comfortable. Robert did not know if he was moving towards evening or if it was approaching noon. Not that it mattered. He was lost, naked, and trying to keep his mind from spinning out of control at his situation.

 

Although, it would be by God’s grace alone that time was moving slower than it looked. He knew that if night fell while he was out here, he’d lose all control of his thoughts, of his actions, of his maintained quiet in this very quiet world. The idea of being out here in the dark

 

_with something hungry_

 

was so awful he couldn’t stomach the thought. He forced it back by focusing on sight, on what he could clearly see. His ears picked up so much more than he wanted them to, so many little things that made him jump and move quicker, so he tried to keep his attention on what he could see. Occasionally a bird sang in the distance, an irregular yet constant reminder that he had something of an audience. Robert hated hearing how carefree the animal sounded. Free to fly away from any danger.

 

He focused on what he saw. All he saw was green leaves, the trunks of trees, the lines of saplings, and the earth. It went on for hours.

 

Passing across a small stream, barely a foot wide and running slower than a sloth, something caught his eye. Something that made him stop. An idea formed, one examining the possibility of crafting a defense. Small rocks on the stream bed. Very flat, with crude edges. Dry bramble around a fallen tree. Robert looked around, found a stick thicker than his fingers but not as thick as his wrist, and set to work.

 

_Better than nothing_ , he thought.

 

After working long enough that he had to remind himself the effort didn’t waste daylight, Robert examined the uneven but pointed end of his makeshift wooden spear. Sturdy and solid and now with a crudely sharp end. He nodded at feeling the point with one finger and dropped the stone tool he had used to sharpen his weapon.

 

“Outta put any fucker’s eye out,” he muttered. Rob felt a little better at having something he could hurt someone with. The mammals who put him here weren’t even generous enough to leave him his knife. But that would be giving him an advantage, and true to their actions so far, the mammal –

 

_it is not alone_

 

– mammals doing this to him were all about tipping the odds in their favor.

 

Starting forward again (or wherever, for all that mattered), Robert kept his weapon close and began to think. Something he was having trouble with.

 

_Think. It’s as easy as walking. You got back home from work. Undressed, dressed. Went to McCoy’s. Said hey to the usual barflies. Ordered a beer and a chaser. Drank. Lit cigarette. Inhaled. Exhaled. And then _____________________._

 

Rob sucked air through his teeth. _I lit my goddamn cig, took a pull, and then _________________ someone asked me something . . ._

Robert’s head still ached, more so when he tried to put last night’s reel back on the spools. Maybe he _had_ been drugged, because he never had this much trouble trying to remember a previous night out. The very idea that he might have been drugged put a lick of angry fire in his chest.

_Someone asked me ____________________. Son of a bitch, it was . . . it was a really odd fuckin’ question, wasn’t it? Not a hello or even a pick-up line. Like a real zinger, right out of left field._

 

Something ruffled above him. Robert looked up to see a wriggling mass of black in the branches, contrasting against the now all grey cloud cover. A murder of crows, all peering down with BB gun pellet eyes, cawing and churring to each other in some harsh and foreign tongue. Robert wanted to yell at them to shut up and go away, but the thought of making any more noise than necessary felt like a terrible idea.

 

All of their heads slowly swiveled with his position, keeping a constant collective eye on him. They reminded Robert of that one old movie – black and white picture about Bonnie and Clyde – probably the title itself. The part when the duo spotted a stranded motorist on a back road out of town, a day after they were done cleaning out all of the banks.

 

Bonnie and Clyde had stopped, gotten out, and talked with the mammal on the road, the one who kept glancing left and right and was visibly sweating. While they stood in the quiet, something odd, something out of place for the middle of nowhere, snapped during a lull in the conversation. A flock of birds tore from the trees and into the sky. And the informant hit the dirt, leaving Bonnie and Clyde bullseyed in front of their car. Across the road, hiding in the bushes, were several dozen armed officers. One of them had checked the action on his gun, and the noise startled up the flock in the nearby tree. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that none of the officers had brought handcuffs.

 

It was the lone cue that gave the police up, the one chance for the pair to escape or at least get behind cover. But in that split second, in the end, it didn’t give the prey any real advantage over the hunters. Just a moment for Clyde to realize that the end was inevitable, and the end was right there.

 

Robert clearly remembered how in the film, Bonnie looked at Clyde with such a puzzled look, like she didn’t get the obvious joke. Clyde only gave Bonnie a sad and knowing smile in return. Like he was saying _sorry kid, we had great fun, you and I._ The smile, and the moment, lasted for one second before the bullets tore them and their car apart. One moment. That was all the hunters gave them.

 

Robert would be lucky if he even got that. At least Bonnie got to see Clyde’s charismatic grin one last time before the cops turned them into blood-spattered Swiss cheese.

 

What Robert did get was the crows’ sudden screams from behind him, the loud and thick sounds of the flock spilling from the trees and bursting into the sky. Their departure was cut off by the sound of a twig snapping behind the bunny.

 

_Like a metallic click-click coming from the bushes._

 

Robert spun around and faced a mammal. The very same mammal who asked him that funny question at the bar last night. Only, at that moment, Robert didn’t recall either her or the question. He would only recall the question later. His mind was in a state of white-spotted aftershock and he was holding down the scream in his throat.

 

Another rabbit. Naked. Grey, black-tipped ears, no visible sheath or balls - so female - with purple eyes. She gave him a pleasant look, not a smile, but not a frown. Something neutral. An expression he could not place nor name.

 

It did not sit right at all with Robert. She was pretty, she was naked – he could now just make out the top of the pink hood of her clit nestled at the apex of her legs – and she was a rabbit.

 

Nothing about any of that sat right with him.

 

The feeling of unease started to wind up tighter in his gut when she didn’t say anything to him – not at first – but looked right at his makeshift weapon with a small frown. She exhaled through her nose in apparent dissatisfaction.

 

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

 

“Found it lying around out here. Who the hell are you?”

 

She breathed hard through her nose again. “You asked me that same question last night. Do you remember what I asked you?”

 

Hearing those words hurt. Not at all for the condescending and belittling tone of them, but just processing the sounds and vowels of her message caused a sharp and awful pain to spike behind Robert’s eyes.

 

_Her her her it was her at the bar but I can’t picture her there but her voice why does it sound so familiar what was her question what the fuck did she ask me?_

 

“You do this to me, bitch?”

 

No answer. She stared back at him, refusing to break his stare. First female bunny to pull that stunt on him in a while. The familiar and comfortable feeling of anger started to build in Wells. He put it to use.

 

“Hey. I asked you a question. You put me out here, took my shit and left me in the middle of the goddamn woods?”

 

She snorted _at_ him this time, grinning.

 

“You think this is fuckin’ funny?” Robert yelled. “We’ll see how funny it is when I’m fucking you over a log with this spear – ”

 

“I do think it’s funny,” the female bunny started, “that you think that ‘spear’ of yours is going to keep you alive.”

 

The world went quiet again, and the silence began thrumming in Robert’s ears.

 

_THERE IS A PREDATOR HUNTING YOU._

_WHEN IT FINDS YOU, IT WILL KILL YOU._

_IT IS NOT ALONE._

 

“You stay away from me,” Robert muttered, holding up the spear towards her. “Come near me? And I _will_ stick you with this. I’ll stick you good. And not just in your cunt. I’ll put more than one new hole in you. You’ll look like I just had you put in front of a firing squad.”

 

“You did strike me as the type that liked to hurt women, Robert.”

 

“You ain’t right in the fuckin’ head,” he said, backing up. “You ain’t normal.”

 

“A wise mammal once told me normal is subjective. What’s normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. Guess which one you are.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he threatened, still backing up. “Don’t make me come over there. I will and I’ll get plenty of use out of you before I run you through.”

 

“You won’t do either,” she stated. “Go and run. You’ve got an hour or so until the sun sets. I’ll see you then.”

 

The bunny opened her mouth to say something more, but stopped, ears rotating and nose twitching. A look of possible concentration – or worry – crossed her face, and her attention left him.

 

The moment she turned to look elsewhere, Robert did the same and sprinted into nothing, into more forest, into an increasing panic. The world flew by him in a brown, green, and grey reel. It would be the first of only two times that he’d be running for his life.

 

He ran until his lungs couldn’t take in any more air, and he physically came to a stop, bending at his knees, almost collapsing completely. Still out of breath, his ears and head snapped around and expected to hear and see her

 

_And something worse_

 

come barreling through the forest after him.

 

Nothing. Only still forest, the occasional chirp of a far off bird. No sounds of movement, but it was tough to be sure when his lungs felt like they were going to come up through his mouth.

 

Robert chanced closing his eyes and began to focus. Still couldn’t remember the night before. Fine. That was done, and at worse, he’d just never recall it. First priority was getting anywhere that looked remotely traveled, like a trail way. That would be plenty. He still couldn’t hear any other signs of civilization – cars on a road, the hum of power lines – and some psycho bitch bunny that was clearly in on feeding him to something bloodthirsty . . .

 

His train of thought stopped, and Robert replayed those words in his head. Those absurd words. Those completely fucking absurd words.

 

_She’s just a rabbit,_ he realized. _She is only a rabbit. There is no other party. It’s just that looney bitch trying to get at you. There’s no predator out here. It’s just the two of you. And one of you has a weapon. That’s why she asked about it, because that dumb whore didn’t think you’d get the chance to make one._

 

Robert felt a liquid relief begin to combat the jittery hysteria that was trying to take firm root in his body. That was it, wasn’t it? Just two rabbits, one insane and one ready to dig the insane one a very shallow grave. Not before he taught her a lesson or two, though.

 

There was no other mammal, no batshit crazy killer ‘hunting’ him. Just her trying to convince him that he was outgunned and outmanned. Trying to make him falter. Trying to get him to slip up, to freak out and panic. Doing so would give her a chance at him. She was the one trying to kill him.

 

Robert started forward again, gripping his weapon more tightly, already feeling more in control of himself and his situation. It was only him and her in this forest. That was doable.

 

And then he saw the pawprint stamped into the dirt, directly in front of him. A naked imprint perfectly pushed into an open patch of soil. A pawprint, much larger than his, with four digits, and etches for claws at each end. And then he saw the line of tracks the pawprint belonged to.

 

The pungent scent of fox swam into his nose in one inhale.

 

All sense of control and newfound confidence left him in the following exhale.

 

~

 

Dusk started to blanket Robert. It was beginning to settle into the forest. It was slowly suffocating what little light remained, like a cup placed over a lit candle. It was making him move quickly, making him abandon his walking pace in favor of something – anything – that would get him out faster.

 

Robert saw it, and almost screamed in joy. Almost. A clearing of light, or what was more a lighter shade of deep blue, that was highlighted in the background of some trees in his direction. He was approaching a treeline, coming from the woods to anything but.

 

_Maybe a road. Maybe a campground. Maybe a parking lot or a trail or anything aside from this fucking forest._

 

When Robert broke through the treeline, he took a second. And then screamed. Once and only once before his free paw flew to keep back the rising panic.

 

A clearing. An unplotted, untraveled, untouched natural clearing. No signs of anything or anyone civilized. No sounds, no scents. Nothing but the cool breath of the trees. Nature did not abhor her vacuums, and she left this spot free of trees and major scrub. Weeds sashayed to the tune of the wind.

 

The treeline was no longer distinguishable. It was all one dark blue mass bordering black, a Van Gogh outline of what one would assume to be firs and spruces and maples and oaks. The clouded sky was an ugly color of deep greys and blues.

 

The birds had stopped the occasional commentary long ago. They had disappeared and left Robert alone with his hunters.

 

The realization had been slow, creeping, and patient, like an ambush predator waiting on the side of the road. It was now crawling across his body, clawed digits scratching and plucking at the hair on the back of his neck. His heart had worked its way up into his throat and his breathing was now in deep and quick pulls through his mouth. Like Bonnie and Clyde, running out of road. Or light, in Robert’s case.

 

It was going to be eventual.

 

Full dark. No stars. No moon.

 

It would be him

 

_and them_

alone in the pitch black.

 

Robert broke into a sprint. The thinly laid plans of evasion evaporated away, like birds darting into the infinite sky. He bolted into the black mass, his pupils widening to comically large pools to try and let in any available light. Before breaking into the treeline, Robert ran directly through something very sharp and very painful, like receiving paper cuts between his toes. Instead of stopping and examining his injuries, he screamed and ran faster.

 

What had delivered twenty-six small cuts across his feet, toes, and shins was a coil of long abandoned razor wire, the barbs rusted but still sharp. It would have made his one weapon into two, transformed his spear to double as a vicious club. That would have helped, maybe even have saved him, if he had stopped.

 

What a waste.

 

~

 

It was only three minutes later that a mammal came right after Robert to the clearing. It was even walking within feet of where the rabbit had walked. The scent became more noticeable, so much easier to follow, as the sun retreated. Maybe it was the advent of night. Maybe it was just him getting closer. The scent had gone from nervous sweat and panic to something even more delicious. Genuine fear. Genuine flight.

 

The predator went right to the bloodied wire. Sniffed and examined it. And after a moment’s consideration, gingerly placed its tongue to taste the blood.

 

Even against the cooled evening, there was still warmth against his tongue as he blotted against the metal.

 

_That is so alive. They_ do _taste better when afraid._

 

The predator broke into a full sprint after Robert. It heard two things, two very exciting things, each in the near distance. The sound of boiling thunder and the sound of someone screaming in pure dread.

 

~

 

Robert only moved when there was light. It came in erratic and unannounced bursts, highlighting the entire world around him for a second, maybe two, three if he was lucky. The lightning was not synchronized with the erratic, eardrum-ringing cacophony of thunder. That came in the dark, right after the lights went back out, and Robert was sure he was cracking apart his teeth as he bit down with each bang.

 

He moved from tree to tree, hugging the bases and exhaling a mixture of air and spit into the bark. He was a scared little kit all over again, afraid of the dark spaces that hid monsters. His heart was hammering in his throat, intent on breaking through the walls of his ribs.

 

In less than three minutes, a set of clawed paws would do just that.

 

In the complete darkness, he heard the running, the rapid _batbatbatbatbatbat_ of paws against the soft earth. Growing louder and louder from behind. He managed one exhale and spun. Silent lights filled the whole world for two seconds.

 

Her. The naked bitch. Sprinting at him with murder flashing in her eyes.

 

Robert swung the spear to point at her, willing her to keep running with the soon-to-follow blackout and impale herself. They met eyes for a second before the lightning canceled out into darkness.

 

In the perfect dark, the sounds of her vanished. Robert heard nothing but the movement of air across his ears.

 

Something snapped against his paws, a sharp splintering of pain gone in a second with feeling his fingers close into fists. His weapon had been snapped from his paws.

 

Another bolt of lightning, another brightly lit snapshot of his personal hell. Robert didn’t see her, or his weapon, anywhere in front of him. Just the motionless forest. The dark returned.

 

Then the rumbling of thunder, this time so much louder than the previous rounds.

 

The sound continued for seconds. In the dark, the thunder continued to growl. It did not peter out after a moment, but grew in volume and intensity and proximity –

 

One last flash of lighting, the last glimpse of the movie before the reel ran off the spool. Robert turned to face something with green eyes and many sharp teeth, a blur on all fours sprinting at him. It was within a second’s time away from him.

 

Robert realized that he, just like Clyde, had only one moment to realize he was as good as dead. But with no one around to smile goodbye to.

 

The lights went out, Robert’s entire world and existence feeling entirely numb with abject horror. In the dark, the predator snapped its jaws through Robert’s neck. Robert didn’t get out one scream; the predator bit through and through in one full-bodied pull. It tore out the entirety of Robert’s throat and neck, leaving his head attached only by his spine and the skin on the back of his neck.

 

Robert heard – not saw, but heard – the thing swallow his voicebox, his windpipe. Robert fell back, mind beginning to black in and out from the agony, as the creature tore into his chest and belly. Robert didn’t even feel the rabbit come over and start eating him as well.

 

Thunder growled off in the distance. No more lightning. Not for now. The sensory overload in Robert’s brain triggered the memory of last night. The last flash of light through the projector before the bulb popped. He remembered what she had asked him at the bar. That awful and strange question before they began speaking.

 

_When’s the last time you tried something new for dinner?_

 

~

 

The pair drove back to the city. It had been two days since Robert Wells met his end in a quiet forest.

 

It ranked as one of the best meals of their lives. It was one of, if not the most, intimate and fulfilling acts they had ever committed. The rest of their weekend had been committed to sleeping in, drinking, fucking, and making sure they had it all covered and worked through.

 

Being detectives certainly helped in that last regard.

 

“I’m glad you made him throw up before we set him loose,” Nick told her from the driver’s seat. “I think the cheap beer and chips in his stomach would have diluted his flavor profile a little.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m sure what I slipped into his beer the night we got him wouldn’t have been a good addition either,” Judy said with a slanted smile.

 

“That too.” Nick smiled at her, almost leering in his gaze. It took Judy a moment to hop onto what he was suggesting. Judy raised her eyebrows at his suggestion.

 

“You think we should _feed_ the next one?” she asked. “Like fatten them up?”

 

“I personally prefer my fat to be crisped black by a wood-fed fire, but along those lines, yes.”

 

“Speaking of fire,” Judy made a disgusted face, “I’m disappointed with the lungs. Was hoping for a more ‘smokey’ flavor. But, surprise-surprise, smoker’s lungs are a far cry from charcoal briquette.”

 

Nick mirrored her minor disgust in agreement. “Well, bound to miss here and there when trying something new.”

 

“Have anything in mind? On what to feed someone?”

 

“Truffles, garlic, and escargot for one special occasion. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme – with blueberries – for another special outing. And some other medley we’ll have to come up with for the other times.”

 

“Oh my god,” Judy breathed with eyes going wide. It reminded her of the ortolans, of that ritual and how it had evolved. Of how, at that moment, she had a genuine feeling, an inkling in the back of her head, that Nick was going to bite into her body.

 

A shimmer of something so otherworldly it couldn’t be categorized as fear rolled through her. Something that still needed thorough processing and unraveling to fully comprehend.

 

Something she knew she’d only have with him. What intimacy. What bliss.

 

“I love you,” she told him. Nick smiled from ear to ear and winked in return. The gesture returned his affection in full.

 

They sat in the comfortable silence, driving back to their lives, driving back to becoming Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps, detectives for Precinct One of Zootopia. They would leave their other halves - their newly forged designs - out there in the forest and in the mountains with what little remained of Robert Wells.

 

An idea popped into Judy’s head. “Mom’s got some great recipes. And I think Bunnyburrow is only a four-hour drive from here if we pick up the interstate.”

 

“You say ‘only a four-hour drive’ as if we were driving down two city blocks.”

 

“Oh, quit your bellyaching! It’s still early, and my family would be so happy to see us again! We get dinner, some recipes, and you get to play with all of my younger siblings.”

 

Judy flashed her eyebrows at Nick, watching in delight at how he tried to hide his growing smile. “I _know_ how much you love playing with the kits, Nick. You couldn’t hide it if your life depended on it.”

 

The fox smiled wide and shrugged in confession. “My own personal army of fearsome yet harmless fluff,” Nick said with delighted reverence. He couldn’t wait to be buried under a living avalanche of her fearless siblings. “Alright, making it into a long weekend with a surprise trip to the compound.”

 

For the next three hours, their conversation was normal. It was only as they were starting to see signs for Bunnyburrow did Judy notice the white cleaver of the moon starting to rise into the evening sky. For the last time in that car ride, their conversation floated back to the darkness of their designs.

 

“I wish the moon had been out for our first time. It would have made him look as divine as he tasted.”

 

Nick seemed to mull over his answer to her, rolling his tongue across his teeth and against his cheeks as if tasting the words. “Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Judy?”

 

She looked at him and shook her head. Nick stared ahead into the road.

 

“It appears quite black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October and Happy Halloween everyone! Thank you for reading and as always, i'd love to hear any and all thoughts you may have.


	12. Two and Two Becoming More Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about 4 close friends – two couples – that find a way around the tilted scales of a hateful system to start their own families.

The sun was out and the park was alive. Playgrounds and stretches of open field, dotted with clusters of trees and bushes, were swarmed with mammals. Packs. Herds. Loners. Families. Mothers and fathers. Kits.

 

Oh God. There were so many kits.

 

The sounds of joyful screaming from toddlers, of cooing newborns, and parents speaking with an alien level of adoration and love. The rest of the world, the rest of the city, was eclipsed by the bubble of the moment. The other mammals without families were nothing but side details, the frame for the painting that almost held Nick’s complete attention.

 

Almost. He was wishing, now more than ever, that it did hold his complete attention. Something that could offer a complete escape from the new round of this very reiteration.

 

This Reiteration. Reverberation. Recurrence. Relapse. Repeat. Again. And Again.

 

This might be Hell, because Hell is only repetition.

 

The knot in his stomach wound tight, threatening to start tearing through his gut and spilling something caustic - something worse then misery - all throughout his being. It became evident that maybe coming here from the hospital wasn’t such a good idea after all. Not like they had other plans for the rest of the day. Meetings with the pediatrician, the surrogacy agency, the lawyers, city hall, celebrating the start of their new life with some new members. Those plans were tossed, or more accurately, assigned to someone else. They no longer belonged to Judy and Nick. They would not happen today, or tomorrow, or for the foreseeable future.

 

It was still just them. It was now only them. Again.

 

The sounds of the park were growing louder, as if Karma herself was turning up the volume, amplifying the growing misery in his heart. Maybe the silence of their home would be better. Maybe it would shut it all out, suffocate the painful fire that was starting to grow with so much provided oxygen.

 

Without a word, Nick made to get up off the bench, to get away, and felt her paw smooth over his and hold him down. Firmly. The knot in his stomach pulled tighter. Nick looked over to see Judy staring at the ground, face set in an unfeeling mask. He felt nauseous. He couldn’t bring himself to argue. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything else than just look down at her. Doing anything else would lead to an argument – a truly nasty one – and at this point in time, Nick would rather jump out a window than make this day more miserable. The fox sat back down, several inches away from her.

 

This was it, then. Again.

 

Something needed to be said. Anything to kill the awful silence.

 

“You know,” Nick started weakly, “I really had a good feeling about her. Can you believe that?” He waited for a response he knew wasn’t coming, and after several seconds of hearing only the entire world around them but not her, Nick resumed.

 

“I don’t know why, but I thought this would be the time the surrogate would pull through. She was great through the entire pregnancy. Said she was so happy we were going to be the parents. I thought ‘this time . . . This time, we’re golden.’” Once again, nothing. He stopped, already feeling like he had just crossed that line in the sand and was walking further and further into a minefield with every syllable and breath.

 

Judy kept staring at the ground. Her ears were pressed tight against her back in a pathetic attempt to lessen the noise. She couldn’t look up to see all of the families. Her nose stayed statue-esque still.

 

It was their self-inflicted punishment for coming back empty-pawed, getting to see the absolute beauty of the structure but having the keys to the castle ripped away at the last minute. Nick was practically trying to vomit out any words when she spoke.

 

“Did you see it?” Judy asked the ground.

 

At that question, he lost the will to say anything back. Nick didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to _hear_ what ‘it’ was, even though he _knew_ what ‘it’ was. Judy answered herself anyway.

 

“The way she looked at them? The moment she was allowed to hold them?” Judy continued, her voice a confused whisper.

 

Nick put his face into his paws. Tried to hide his crippling weakness from her, tried to smooth out the anguish threatening to tear open his eyes and mouth, threatening to let loose the tears and screams he was trying to hold back.

 

Yes, he had seen the way the surrogate looked at her newborn kits. He also saw the look after it, the look she gave them. It very clearly spelled out a two-letter answer to the question ‘Are you still ready to part with them?’

 

Nick’s choked silence was his answer to Judy’s question.

 

Swallowing the anguish back down with the ease of swallowing stones, Nick chanced looking at his wife. Judy’s gaze had remained fixed to the dirt, her eyes now watering to the point that tears were running down her nasal bridge and off her nose.

 

“She was so ready to start her new life,” Judy whispered. “So ready to give them to us. We were so ready to have them. We were so ready to start out new life with them. So. Ready . . . We were with her this whole time, watching them develop, making sure everything was okay, and all it took . . . ” Judy stopped talking and her mouth warped into a miserably crooked line.

 

“She promised us. She promised that everything would be okay and that she did not want to be a mother, Nick.” Judy took a shuddering breath.

 

The next three words broke Nick’s heart for the second time that day.

 

“It’s not fair,” she breathed. Her shoulders, and then her body, began to shake, erratic and painful to watch, most of all for her husband. “She didn’t even _want_ to be a mother, Nick . . . ”

 

By then, Nick had closed the small yet impassable distance between them, grabbing her and pulling the rabbit into his chest. Within moments his shirt was soaked with her tears, his own running down his face and onto the top of her head, and Judy was screaming loud enough to make his ears ring.

 

The weight of their shared misery came crashing down onto them. Again.

 

For the fourth time in six years, they were robbed of becoming a family. Again.

 

“It’s just not fair!” she screamed into him. “It’s not fucking fair!!”

 

Nick agreed, said nothing, and held her tighter. He was all too aware of this repetition. And it was not fair. Not one fucking bit.

 

Judy screamed until her voice cracked and broke. They sat and sobbed for the rest of the afternoon. They sat on their bench, in the shade of the tree, at the edge of a park, catching glimpses and hearing delighted cries of happiness. They were once again sidelined on the outside to look inwards, into a world they so desperately wanted to become a part of. A life that had once again slipped right through their fingers.

 

Four times. Six years lost. Agonizing repetition. It all was so terribly much like Hell itself.

 

~

 

Jack had to force the breath out. Had to measure out the syllables as they left his tongue like a toddler learning his first words. Something awful was setting across his skin, prickling the shallow fur over his entire body.

 

All of the anticipation and excitement was gone; those feelings were nothing more than mere memories, like fragments of a dream. As if they had never existed.

 

Jack found his voice, aligned his syllables in the proper order, and asked, “What did you just say?”

 

The caseworker looked at him. She then looked at a small clear orb on her desk. A sealed aquarium, a softball-sized globe filled with eraser shaving-sized shrimp and tangles of green algae. The caseworker seemed to take sudden interest in their sporadic movements before turning back to her 2:30 appointment.

 

“I am sorry to say that your request for adoption has been denied,” the wildebeest told them, not at all sounding genuinely sorry. Just ‘matter-of-factly’ sorry. As in, oh, sorry about that fender bender there. Why don’t we just exchange policies and let the insurance companies duke it out?

 

That was the kind of ‘sorry’ Jack and Skye warranted.

 

“We’ve . . . been denied?” Jack barely managed.

 

“Yes sir, that is the case.”

 

The world went numb. Jack’s words, and ability to form more, stopped. The caseworker took the opportunity to fill in.

 

“In twelve calendar months, you can appeal this decision by beginning the process again. You will be assigned a new case manager and both the lower appeals court and the agency will make note that this decision was made this day, the fourteenth of August, 2017.”

 

“Wait, wait, _wait a minute_ ,” Jack held up both paws, feeling something like fury starting to snap and grab within his body, “excuse me. What do you mean we’ve been denied?” He motioned to himself and the arctic fox sitting next to him. The one whose eyes had gone wide, mouth parted slightly open. Skye stared unblinking at the caseworker. She had been frozen in place at hearing the words –

 

“Your request for adoption has been denied, sir,” the caseworker spelled out. “You and your spouse have been denied registration as adoptive parents and are no longer eligible to continue filing for adoption of the kits at this time.”

 

“For what reasons?” Jack strained.

 

The social worker said nothing at first, then looked down at her desk as though searching for the answer to that question, as if those answers had been jotted on a sticky note and then misplaced. The ticking from the wall-mounted clock seemed to grow louder as seconds warped into what felt like eons.

 

“Excuse me. For what reasons were my wife and I denied?” Jack pressed. He was now on the literal edge of his seat.

 

“Neither I, nor the city, have to provide reasons as to why you were denied rights.”

 

“So, there was no real reason? There’s nothing in writing?”

 

“No, there were reasons for your denial.”

 

“Then my wife and I deserve to hear them. You have to tell us.”

 

While only giving the caseworker exactly two seconds to answer, it was exactly two seconds too late for her.

 

“I do not understand,” Jack started. “We have been applying to adopt for over seven years now. This application round took us nearly two years. Two full years we’ve been doing this, not counting the first time when we literally had to go through the process by trial and error because no one wanted to help us. So, two whole years we’ve been working at this, feeling that we knew all the loops and all of the steps and all of the deadlines and all of the requirements. You said over the phone and through the thousands of emails that everything was fine, that all of the paperwork was good and in order.”

 

“My team and my assistants told you that your provided paperwork was in order, yes.”

 

“For two whole years,” Jack continued, voice slowly rising, “your _office_ and everyone we spoke to kept telling us everything was in place. That Skye and I were crossing all of our T’s and dotting all of our I’s and –”

 

“I am sure that – ”

 

“Excuse me,” Jack cut her off, “I’m not finished talking. It’s very rude to interrupt someone when they are in the middle of talking.” There was a strained silence for one moment. Then another. And by the third moment, with the caseworker staying quiet, lips pinched shut in a thin line, Jack continued.

 

“For months, everything was fine. And we,” Jack motioned to himself and the vixen, “we came in today to hear the good news. To hear that yes, everything was indeed in the right place, that all was right with our papers and everything checked out. Just like we showed you. That we would be approved by the city to adopt those kits.”

 

The social worker tilted her head, almost – almost – said something, but caught herself and bit back the words.

 

Jack briefly shook his head, a quick, almost fevered shake of only an inch or so in each direction. He never once took his eyes off their caseworker.

 

“Everything was fine,” he breathed, straining to keep his voice and volume to _just breathing._ “Everything was going perfectly fine and we have been looking forward to this very day for years and we woke up at five AM this morning to make sure nothing could keep us from getting here on time because of how important this final meeting would be and we get here and you tell us that – ” The words evaporated off his tongue, and Jack was left with his arms partially extended towards the wildebeest.

 

In a quiet voice, far more quiet then he, or the case worker, had been expecting, Skye whispered, “Why were we denied?”

 

Silence. The social worker had given up on trying to reiterate the whole ‘take it up with us in a year’ bit.

 

“Please tell us why?” Skye begged.

 

“I don’t have to tell you why,” the caseworker stated.

 

“Don’t _want_ to tell us or are legally bared from telling us why?” Jack demanded. “It is either legal policy or choice. Which is it?”

 

The caseworker had nothing to say to that question. Choice it likely was, then. Policies and statutes were always used readily for those too chicken-shit to stand by their actions. Jack looked from Skye to the wildebeest, trying to gauge his wife on how they needed to immediately proceed and what sort of Hell he needed to raise.

 

And then the rabbit caught it. Just for a moment, a flash in the pan. Here one moment and gone the next. But he caught it, sure as a hook through the gills. That mean, ugly, hard and hateful glint some mammals still gave and some still received. Shot from a servant of the city directly to his wife. From prey to predator.

 

He then looked to Skye, and watched the tears start to form on her lower eyelids.

 

“If you would like to file for an appeal regarding this decision, you must wait the twelve-month grace period before filing again,” the social worker ground out through grated teeth. “Otherwise, that is the end of this discussion and therefore the end of this meeting.” She stood up and glared down at them, her way of saying ‘get the fuck out of my office’ without verbalizing it.

 

Jack didn’t remember getting out of his chair. It certainly wasn’t because he was ready to leave. He did remember the look the caseworker shot his wife. He clearly remembered that. The sound of his knuckles rolling into fists, hard enough to crack them, echoed through the room with the strength and weight of loading a firearm.

 

Skye’s arm looped around him and walked him out of the door before something happened. But not before Jack turned his head and got a few words in edgewise.

 

“How dare you,” he hissed.

 

The wildebeest’s eyes widened at seeing his face, at seeing the look in his eyes. It surprised her to find that, without clear or rational reasoning why, she was afraid of the rabbit currently being led away by his vulpine partner.

 

The last words the rabbit issued before the door to the caseworker’s office clicked shut were but a thin whisper, laced with something venomous, caustic, and uncharacteristically crude for Jack. They carried their palpable weight in each syllable.

 

“How fucking _dare_ you.”

 

The office door clicked shut, and Jack tore forward from his partner’s embrace. His pace was almost a sprint, if not for a few steps, before he felt alone enough in the hallway to try and collect himself, to try and bring himself back with enough sense to talk without screaming and doing something he’d later regret.

 

Skye watched. She knew Jack, inside and out. Knew him well enough to know what he was capable of. Knew that he had never, could never, and would never hurt her in any way. But other mammals? Other mammals that made it a point to hurt him or her?

 

Jack was plenty capable of hurting them.

 

This disaster had brought out a fragment of the past. Skye caught it in his tone, in his posture, in the energy spitting off from his body. For a moment, the news had brought out the ‘old Jack’, as the good mammals in the ZIA would sometimes affectionately refer to him. The old him, whose actions and records were striped black with permanent ink.

 

The fox knew that Jack wouldn’t resort to actual violence, even in this situation. But he was likely to _say_ something, to _do_ something they couldn’t take back. And if Jack, old or new, said _something_ , then he meant it. He would absolutely follow through and _do_ it. Without question.

 

Jack turned to face Skye, and the hurt she saw in his face, body and walk made her feel physically ill. Maybe she should have let her husband lay into the social worker. Maybe let him pitch that shrimp-filled globe into the wall, a few inches to the left of the caseworker’s head. Skye would be sure to stop him after that, before he did anything too permanent.

 

“She can’t do that to us,” Jack hissed, shaking his head. He felt dangerously light, filled with a terrible yet familiar energy. Energy he wanted to put to good use, but knew no such use existed at this moment. “They can’t do this.”

 

“She can’t, and she did,” Skye said.

 

“No basis,” Jack countered, pointing once at the closed office door and then turning to pace. “No objective basis at all. Nothing but a subjective, irrational, utterly bullshit speciest opinion!”

 

Skye nodded. She wanted so desperately to be as enraged as him. Anything would be better than this feeling of defeat. “I know. I know.”

 

Jack worked his mind through his mouth, trying to get a grip, trying to calm himself down. “I. Will. Make. A call,” he told her, “I am not going to let those incompetent, speciest morons alone decide if you and I are legally allowed to raise children! I will not let them decide on a whim that we are incapable of raising children!”

 

“What would that achieve, Jack?” Skye shot back. “You think throwing your weight around with mammal’s careers will fast-track us to becoming parents? Is that what you think will happen?”

 

Jack stopped moving and talking. His chest heaved. His fingers twitched like he had been hooked up to a live wire.

 

“What do you think will happen?” Skye continued. “You don’t think the agencies and courts will make a note of that? Jack, I know you, and I know that this is coming from the bottom of your heart and oh God I want you to do it! Whatever it is you are thinking of doing, I _Want You To Do It_!

 

“But Jack . . . they’ll use it against us. They’ll say how can we be good parents with that kind of behavior, if that’s how we react? What do you expect will happen – ”

 

“I don’t know!” Jack yelled, the fury leaving his face, replaced with heavy anguish. “I don’t know, I just don’t know! I don’t know what to do because this has been our best shot! It’s this or bust, Skye! We can’t find a surrogate that isn’t on drugs or drinking or continually entertaining the idea of an abortion or isn’t trying to – ”

 

They stared at each other in the silence of the hallway. Far, far away, phones were sounding and mammals were carrying on as if their crushing disappointment was invisible, or maybe just undeserving of sympathy.

 

The linings of Jack’s eyes began glistening. His voice broke. “I . . . I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Skye. I don’t know what to do.”

 

It was a horrible thing to hear, those words and the admittance of weakness sewn into them that nearly caused Skye to crack. The guilt almost pried open her mouth, almost made the words spill out.

 

_I am so sorry._

Skye walked up towards her husband.

_I am sorry that I can’t give us children. I’m sorry for having the wrong DNA._

They both reached for each other, paws shaking and skin cold.

_I am so sorry for having sharp teeth and slitted pupils, and for being a fox, and for being the likely reason we were denied that life. Again._

 

To openly admit those damning truths would be completely giving up. Skye couldn’t do it. She could not admit that right now it was hopeless. The words stayed locked in her chest, where they belonged. Where they were only capable of slowly poisoning one of them.

 

She embraced him, and he held on to her. She let herself sob into his shoulder, her own private way of begging for forgiveness. Jack swallowed his sorrow back into his chest, feeling another crack splinter through his heart as his misery passed down. His arms looped around her and he hugged until his muscles began to shake.

 

~

 

Four Months Later

 

Nick, Judy, Skye and Jack went out together. On the increasingly rare occasion all of them had an evening together in the city at the same time, they decided that friendly familiarity would do them all some good and agreed to meet up at a local dive enjoyed by those in law enforcement. The two couples had kept notice of their rejections private until they came muzzle to muzzle.

 

It took two, maybe three, seconds for two and two to come to a definitive and immediate understanding. Judy’s eyes welled up. Nick’s arms went slack. Both Skye and Jack exhaled with staggered force.

 

The four of them shuffled forward and laced themselves into a group hug. They all stood in their comforting embrace for some time, not caring who saw or if anyone said anything.

 

They exchanged their hellos and so great to see you agains, and without dictation, the girls and boys split to talk. Everyone had already had enough of talking to their spouse about the setback. Same sex, monogamous company was needed for them all.

 

The males went off, beers in paw, towards the darts. The females occupied a corner table, Skye with a bourbon on rocks and Judy with a carrot and pineapple vodka. Each group skipped the remaining formalities and discussed their sore spots.

 

“She backed out?” Skye asked.

 

“She backed out,” Judy replied.

 

Skye almost followed that with ‘I don’t know what to say.’ A kneejerk reaction that was wrong, because she did know what to say, just not quite how. So she walked it out.

 

“I honestly don’t know how to say it,” Skye began, “and I’m afraid that it’ll only sound insincere and tired. But I mean it, and it needs saying, because I’m sure the only other mammal you’ve heard say it is Nick. So, fuck it. You need to hear me say it, too.

 

“I am _so sorry_ to hear that the surrogate backed out, Judy.” The truthful pain in her blue eyes was palpable.

 

It hurt to hear it, the admission that she and Nick were unsuccessful once again. It stung. But coming from Skye, hearing the genuine sympathy also felt a little good. It felt almost therapeutic, a little like healing because there was something so mutual in the fox’s apology. It felt good to know it was not just Judy and Nick against the world. Judy smoothed one paw over and gripped the top of Skye’s white fingers.

 

“Thank you.” Judy paused, pursing her lips, then said, “If I say it back – and oh god, do I need to say it to you because you need to hear it too – if I say it back Skye, I am going to break down and bawl my eyes out. Again.”

 

Skye smiled and nodded, intertwining fingers with Judy. It was true, and she knew by the look in the rabbit’s eyes that it was all there, genuine as a final confession. She didn’t need to say it.

 

Even if she couldn’t get out the condolence without coming undone for the umpteenth time, Judy asked, “It was for a bullshit reason, wasn’t it?” It was easier to tackle the subject through a cynical tone. Lately, she had been taking after Nick in that regard.

 

Skye smirked and nodded, taking another large swig of bourbon.

 

“Do I even want to know what for?”

 

“Jack and I think we know why. They say problems in our application, and we still can’t find any evidence of the real reasons, but I’ll give you a hint.” Skye leaned forward, right in front of Judy’s face, and lightly snapped her jaws together, making sure to end the action with a wide, toothy and hollow smile. Judy didn’t so much as twitch.

 

The bunny gave a hard frown and nodded. “Five bucks says it was a prey mammal?” she ventured.

 

“And you, Miss Judy, just won a ten spot,” Skye affirmed. “Dare I ask what happened on your guys’ end?”

 

“Surrogate took one look at those kits when the nurses handed them back to her, and that was that,” Judy shrugged, taking another sip. And then a much longer, more full swig. “That, and she shot Nick a look I’m not sure I liked before she told us no. So . . . yeah. That too. Which is strange, since she seemed fine with him up until that moment. But hey, the laws are to protect the surrogate first and foremost.”

 

The silence on the other end of the table had weight, enough that it pulled Judy’s gaze up to see a livid white fox, ears folded to the back of her head and pupils narrowing.

 

“Really?” Skye growled. “ _That’s_ what she based her back-out on?”

 

“Honestly, I think Nick being a fox was only a small part of it,” said Judy. “It was when she looked at them. That look. That was truly it! Right then and there, she was gone, Skye. She loved those kits the moment they came into her arms in a bundle. And if she needed any further affirmation, she got it at seeing our oldest predator staring happily at her after she had just delivered. I know we’re past all of that, but as Nick says, ‘all the hard-wiring’s still in there.’ I can’t help but think it had a small effect in the decision.”

 

There was a pause, and Skye weighed the possible outcomes of what she was about to say next with extreme prejudice. She would’ve handled a grenade with the pin pulled with less caution. And yet, she was going to throw it and duck because she needed to hear the explosion, needed to hear if it was possible to survive the ensuing shrapnel.

 

“Do you blame him for it?”

 

Ergo, are you angry with him because he was likely a factor in your surrogate backing out? A revolting question whose affirmation would mean an all-time low as far as relationships went.

 

Judy answered almost instantly. “Nope. Not at all.” More surprising, or maybe not too surprising since this was Judy after all, the rabbit included, “And you, I, and Nick all know that Jack doesn’t hold it against you, either.”

 

Skye stared at her while the words sunk in. Judy met her gaze with even determination, taking another sip of her drink.

 

It was the truth, the way only Judy Laverne Wilde could’ve delivered it. As if to hammer the point home, Judy beamed at Skye. Very tired, bruised, and having gone nine rounds in the ring, but it was there. That smile that Nick often bragged about. And here Skye was thinking she was lucky enough to have a husband who would have told her this same truth had she worked up the courage to ask. She not only had Jack, but also Judy. And Nick, even if it was likely that he’d through in a joke or pun at the end of a heart-to-heart.

 

Skye felt so relieved that she was going to cry – just a little – when she smiled, but nothing came sliding down the fur on her face. A nice change of pace from the past few months. “I take it you and Nick aren’t calling it quits?”

 

Judy smiled back, the talk (and a little bit of the alcohol) filling her with renewed confidence. “Do either Nick or I strike you as quitters?”

 

“Last thing that comes to mind.”

 

“And you and Jack?”

 

Skye gave a sideglanced grin. “Please. Yeah, this sucks, this really sucks, and I know that you know how much this whole thing _fucking_ sucks, but he and I have talked, and we can’t bring ourselves to throw in the towel just yet.”

 

“There she is!” Judy raised her glass towards Skye. “To trying?”

 

“Here-here,” said Skye, followed by the bright sound of glass clinking. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you in person but,” Skye paused and looked towards the boys, her gaze a little guilty and a little mischievous, “you ever daydream about what it would be like to carry?”

 

There was relief in the air between them to hear Judy nervously laugh and admit, “Oh my gosh yeah! I mean, talk about getting everything you want in life. Being pregnant would be great if it wasn’t for that stupid ‘incompatible genes’ part. Also, if it was possible: funnies or boxes?”

 

“Funnies or boxes? What the fuck Judy, did you just have a stroke?”

 

Judy was not having a stroke. She did however snort into her drink, splashing vodka up onto her nose. “No! Haven’t you heard that before?! Foxes plus bunnies equals funnies! And bunnies plus foxes equals boxes?!”

 

“Making ‘funnies’ makes me think I’m a comedian. Making ‘boxes’ makes it sound like I’m a machine in a packaging warehouse.”

 

It took Judy a moment longer than she was proud of to collect herself. Good company and a bit of booze made laughing easy again. Turning back to Skye, she asked, “Have you thought about what it would be like to be pregnant?”

 

“Of course. The longer this goes on, the more I think about it,” Skye admitted before capping off that subject with another sip. “In a perfect world, am I right?”

 

~

 

At the other end of the bar, Jack and Nick were playing darts. Or, what could loosely be called a game of darts. At Kildare’s, the dartboard had been used for so many years that most of the original darts had gone missing, either by drunken aim or purposeful pocketing. One of the bartenders thought it necessary and appropriate to replace the darts. The way Nick had heard it was that replacement darts cost money - maybe a few dollars - whereas the owner of Kildare’s had some one-armed scissors on hand. The Band-Aid for the problem became the stitches, and if anyone wanted to play darts, each mammal grabbed a singular dart and four throwing knives from the tray.

 

Coincidence is but only logical. Jack and Nick were having a discussion in near parallel to their wives.

 

“In a perfect world, we would be fathers already.” Nick took a sip of beer, seemed to ponder the thought, and took another, longer sip to dull the edge on that thought. He snapped his wrist and let loose a knife, watching it pinwheel and stick into the farthest edge of the board. “That still counts,” he told Jack. Nick still wasn’t sure how it counted, seeing that the determining move was not a pinpoint but a large wedge. But hey, that only mattered when playing for money and when playing against anyone other than the buck next to him. Once upon a time, winning in darts mattered when playing against Jack. But after one game, their first game, Nick knew when it was high time to cut his losses.

 

“In a perfect world,” Jack reiterated. “Speaking of perfect world, is there anything special you and Judy would want in your kits?” With a more practiced discipline, Jack snapped his wrist. The knife spun straight through the air and into the center of the dartboard.

 

“‘Special?’ What, like superpowers the X-mammals have?”

 

Jack gave Nick an impatient look.

 

“I mean, yeah, that’d be pretty kickass. Laser beams from their eye holes and adamantium skeletons would be neat, but I take it you mean things like males or females?”

 

“I knew there was a reason you made Sergeant,” Jack said. “Yes, that’s what I meant. You must want sons. Teaching them your tricks while avoiding their mother’s eyes must be a goal of The Nick Wilde.”

 

The red fox grinned. That idea didn’t need dulling or washing away. It was one he very often entertained, one that never failed to shoot a rush of giddy excitement through his mind. “Not so much wanting one or the either, I think. Kits are kits, girls can learn just as many tricks as boys,” Nick shrugged, pausing before adding, “But if we’re being honest here, Judy and I would love bunny kits.”

 

Jack’s brow furrowed. “You _both_ want rabbits?”

 

“Oh yeah, it would be great for Judy since she’s grown up with God only knows how many siblings in close proximity. We both know she’d love to have a litter of her own. And don’t get me started on Bonnie and Stu. They love me, but I know it’s something that her family thinks about.”

 

“And you?”

 

Nick grinned again from ear to ear, the look of joyful want in his eyes. “I want a baker’s dozen. At least.”

 

Jack coughed on the sip of beer that had unexpectedly changed lanes from esophagus to windpipe. “My God, Wilde! You and her honestly want more kits than you have paws between you?”

 

The fox nodded with true enthusiasm. His head filled with memories of playing with the youngest Hopps family members. How Judy had actually become irate with him for wanting to hang with bunnies that couldn’t yet speak over her. “Sounds like paradise to me. My own personal militia made up of the cutest mammals on Earth.” Nick ignored the suddenly agitated and partially embarrassed look on Jack’s face at hearing the ‘c’ word, deciding to concentrate on his aim or lack thereof. Another knife toss, this one plunking straight into the wooden crossbeam to the left of the dartboard. At least he was making them stick tonight.

 

“Sounds like way too many to me,” the buck admitted. “Too many little ones to worry about. I never understood why the rest of my species loved procreation in excess.”

 

“For a species with males that can also have multiple orgasms in a row, one after another, I think I may know the answer to such a question.”

 

Jack rolled his eyes yet smirked. “Having as much fun as we possibly can is not an excuse to have as many kits as we possibly can.”

 

“Is that right? You and Skye have an ideal ‘litter size’?”

 

“About as ideal as yours and Judy’s,” Jack responded. “What sex they are truly wouldn’t bother either Skye or myself, but different species and amount does. Fox kits, preferably far fewer than ten. Two or three would be just perfect.”

 

“So specific,” Nick chided.

 

“Specific it is, but it still makes your ideal sound utterly insane,” Jack grinned back. “Maybe that’s why we keep doing the same things over and over again in trying to start families. We’re all utterly insane.”

 

“I wouldn’t say insane.” Nick lobbed a knife without aiming it this time, willing it to at least stick in the floorboards. “Just infected with kit fever. Besides, they’re all out there. They’re just waiting for us to find a way to them.”

 

~

 

The four of them were now buzzed. Nowhere near tanked, but no longer in the realm of sober. The group had regrouped and reformed, occupying one table in the back. The alcohol and time briefly away from spouses helped make the already eased talks flow easier.

 

It had never been their group dynamic to mince words or skate around issues. Such a mindset translated from each couple to their faction.

 

“What about the Honeywell Center?” Judy asked Skye and Jack. “Have you guys heard about them?”

 

Both nodded, and Nick and Judy saw the answer to that inquiry before they said it. “They do great work there, but it’s too small a margin of success for us,” Jack said. “There’s practically zero compatibility, gene-wise.”

 

“We know what they’ll tell us,” Skye rounded off. “We probably wouldn’t even get beyond the consultation appointment it’s so obvious. Not for us, and so it goes.”

 

Both of them sounded nowhere near devastated compared to the more recent news of rejection. _That_ Nick and Judy understood completely. It wasn’t all about genes matching up; all four knew that genetic component was forever out of the question when each couple became serious. An ideal fantasy for a perfect world, and the world was far from perfect. So, each couple had gone forward in pursuing the available alternatives to start families.

 

They had all been on this path for years. It was the most recent, but in no way the first, mutual element shared among the four of them. Interspecies couples, occupations, challenges and stereotypes, predator and prey, how sex was different with a different species, loving another species, etc. They now got to share the struggles of having children as well. The last one was their least favorite similarity.

 

“So what are you guys going to try now?” Skye asked the couple seated opposite of her and Jack.

 

Nick shrugged, and said, “Best case scenario is to find another willing surrogate and try to spend more time with her. Show her that Judes and I mean it when we say we want to start a family.”

 

Jack made a sound of concentration, eyes focused on the table. “Would you two mind hearing a suggestion? Might be something, might be nothing.”

 

Both Judy and Nick immediately agreed.

 

“Have you tried asking any of your family, Judy?” Jack looked up to meet their eyes. He looked almost embarrassed by his own question. “Unlike . . . me, you come from a family that is very normal by bunny standards. So, while I possess zero such background and may be speaking out of turn, do you think it’s a possibility to ask one of them to be a surrogate?”

 

“Thought about it, and talked about it with mom,” Judy responded. “Too much to ask. There are no siblings or cousins of mine that want to get pregnant with a donor, have a litter, then immediately give them to Nick and I to raise in the city, far away from all of them. And for those that have already had kits, well, that’s a full-time commitment and a half right there, on top of working on the farm.”

 

“ . . . I see,” Jack mumbled. “Sorry, thought I was onto something.”

 

“It’s alright, Jack,” Nick said. “We appreciate the forward thinking. Who knows, throwing things out in the open does reveal the simplest ideas. I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be the first time I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.”

 

“What do you think you guys are going to do next?” Judy asked back.

 

“Honestly,” Skye sighed, “not so sure. But adoption is still looking like the best option. Surrogates . . . Well, the few that aren’t smoking, drinking, or running around in the wrong crowds. Still a resource, but Jack and I have been strongly discouraged from that option.”

 

“Ever again,” the buck stated, fingers tapping against his glass.

 

“Why’s that?” Judy asked.

 

“Because the lucky ones we keep finding all turn out to be living up to the stereotype,” Skye admitted, words dripping with embarrassment and guilt.

 

Nick got it before Judy, and speaking to Jack with closed eyes, asked, “Got a few that played the long game with you two?” And then Judy got it.

 

Jack snorted. “More than a few, as embarrassing as it is to admit. Conning us out of our money and our time. Claiming to be pregnant, showing us doctored and altered tests, refusal to get confirmatory blood work done, and after the last payment when we both begin to get wise? Gone.”

 

Judy sat back in genuine disbelief at learning that not only did this bottom-of-the-barrel type of scamming happen, but that it also happened to two of her closest friends. Her blood boiled. She quickly downed the rest of her drink.

 

“That . . . that is so wrong!” she yelled. “Why would someone do that to you? Or to anyone!? Why not kick you while you’re down?”

 

“Oh, it certainly felt like being kicked,” Jack mumbled into his drink.

 

Judy shook her head, eyes darting from the table to everyone else. “I can’t get my head around it! Any of it! Like, what the hell? Why is this such a hurdle for us? We’ve all been through worse, survived worse! Why can’t we just meet mammals that get it?” Judy motioned to herself and to the table, the frustration actually rousing her to stand on her chair. She may have wound up on the tabletop, addressing them like a street-corner philosopher, but the looks not only kept her in her seat, but settled her back down. Skye and Jack’s gazes stole the growing ire back out of her. Sad, burnt faces that agreed with her, but were too tired to add their own fuel to the fire.

 

“Then we’d all have kits,” Judy said in a softer volume, coming back down to sit on her rear. “Then we’d finally be parents.” She smoothed over Nick’s paws and looked up to him, expecting to see the same tired, sympathetic look.

 

Instead, she saw something very different. Something very unexpected. Her eyes widened at seeing her husband’s stare at the table. It was wide-eyed and charged with an energy Judy hadn’t seen in months. It almost looked like he had sat down on a thumbtack. Or several.

 

It was no secret to anyone who knew Nick Wilde that he was an excellent strategist. The fox would’ve made a great lawyer if he had been given the chance (and if he had taken it), with his uncanny ability to poke holes in laws, to find loopholes and back doors in legalese, and to be able to recognize it all for what it really was. At this moment, his mind was busy unlocking doors and finding the loopholes in the fine print. At that moment, Nick Wilde clearly saw the problem and the solution before them at hearing the words

 

_Mammals that get it. Son of a bitch_ , Nick thought, _Couldn’t see the forest for the trees . . ._

 

Still staring at the table, mind racing and gaming out scenarios, his tongue loosened by the alcohol and close company, the words fell out of his mouth for everyone to hear before he could run them through a filter. It only bypassed said filter because the moment Nick thought the idea out, he knew that he was onboard with it.

 

Nick muttered, more to himself and to the drab tablecloth, “We could just be each other’s surrogates and donors.”

 

There was absolute silence. Nick looked up and was able to get out, “And vice versa . . . ” before falling silent at hearing his own words, at feeling them run through his internal filter. And at seeing their faces.

 

Skye, Judy and Jack stared at him. All of their mouths hung open. Their eyes were comically wide, but Nick was finding nothing comical about realizing that he had just committed the ultimate social faux pas in their soon-to-be-permanently-over friend group.

 

Nick had just proposed, out loud, that the two couples switch partners and sleep with them to conceive. They would have each other’s kits.

 

“O-KAY,” Nick started, pushing his glass away from himself like it was poisoned, “now that I have had way too much to drink and said something extremely stupid, self-absorbed and very, very disrespectful, I think it’s time for a formal apology delivered to you all on my knees – ”

 

Something soft yet strong grabbed his forearm. It was _her_ paw. Nick looked down the length of his limb at Judy, preparing himself to have her tear said limb from its socket.

 

She met his eyes, and Nick knew that he was not in trouble. Not yet. Which, considering the strangling silence at the table, was equally surprising.

 

“One more time,” Judy begged more than commanded, “can you say that idea one more time?” Nick stared at her for longer than necessary, making sure there wasn’t a maelstrom of boiling fury coming after her shock. And when no such fury was unleashed, Nick turned to see Jack and Skye slowly look at one another, hold their own private stare, and then turn back to him.

 

They both _nodded._

 

As in _yes please, do continue with that train of thought._

 

So Nick chanced doing so.

 

“Well, it would work, right? I serve as the donor for Skye and Jack serves as the donor for Judy. Skye and I can make foxes, Jack and Judy can make rabbits. If we did that, we’d be golden.

 

“We all go about this at that angle, and we bypass the adoption and surrogate systems entirely. We stop going into debt and being scammed. We save the rest of our money from being dumped into medical and legal fees. Judy and I get bunny kits, Skye and Jack get fox kits, then we’re actual families, and Bob’s yer uncle,” Nick finished.

 

Looking around the table, Nick anxiously checked for where he had inevitably gone wrong. Rage, disappointment, embarrassment, disgust, pity. He practically scanned all over their faces and positions for such embodiments. The stabbing feeling in the center of his gut was screaming that yes, he had indeed royally fucked his life up through words alone and was intent on finding any sort of validation.

 

All he found were three mammals deep in thought.

 

All four of them were switching between investigating their own thoughts and glancing around the table to see everyone else’s. There weren’t any nervous or anxious glances. No signs of fear or anger. Confident, calculating, and for the first time in a long time, partially assured glances.

 

“It all would certainly work,” Jack mused, eyes going from the table to Nick’s. For a moment, Nick feared that the look Jack was giving him would be the prelude to him shooting the fox dead for suggesting they sleep with each other’s wives. The look was incredibly serious, the kind of look bred into someone after years of surviving a vicious lifestyle. But, recognizing it himself, Nick placed the look. Genuine. It wasn’t malicious or nervous or threatened in anyway. Just . . . genuine. Not guarded, not thought out in advanced. In the moment and aware.

 

“Is this really happening? Or is this the effect of misery and alcohol promoting a not-so-good idea?” Nick asked the table.

 

Judy shrugged, mouth open in disbelief, but not at what they were now discussing. “It’s so obvious, Nick. Like Jack said, this could really work.”

 

“Why?” Skye started. “Why did none of us think of this sooner?”

 

“Forest for the trees,” Nick answered. Now, feeling a wave of relief at knowing he wasn’t staring down the barrel of marital separation or social ostracizing or an actual gun, he continued, “Okay, since we’re now clearly talking this option out, I wanna hear thoughts. How would we do it? Artificial insemination?”

 

Now – only _now_ – was he met with a collective stare of disgust. Which, hence his asking, he also shared in.

 

“That sounds . . . unnatural,” Jack admitted through a grimace.

 

“And feels, I don’t know,” Skye anxiously glanced from her husband to the other couple, “kinda impersonal? Removed? Cold, maybe?”

 

“Not the right way to go about it?” Judy tried filling in through explanation. “I mean, considering everything we’ve done and suffered through for all of these wasted years. It wouldn’t be as if we were going behind each other’s backs or did it because we’re bored.” A round of enthused head-nodding in agreement. All of them knew. All of them agreed. Because the doing the act wouldn't be to spite anyone, to hurt anyone, to go and fulfill hidden and selfish desires. And all of them _knew_ why the idea of artificial insemination not only sounded but felt so foreign and insensitive. Because it would be another process. It would be more time wasted, watching the days and weeks and months flick by with unnerving and increasing speed. Another series of steps, all performed through doctors, lawyers, agencies, the courts, labs, cold machinery, blank rooms, cold mammals with blank stares. It would be handled by mammals that had no interest in seeing the four of them happy, just like everyone else that had sidelined them over and over. The process of artificial insemination would be cold and unfeeling, as dead and defeating as the rest of this process had been so far. Like the rest of their failed attempts, it would be out of their control.

 

All four of them had had their fill of cold and unfeeling. All four were tired of having control ripped away at the last moment. 

 

Nick massaged the bridge of his nose. “Wow. I can’t believe we’re having this discussion right now without screams and trading blows. Look, I’m – I’m pretty sure I’m completely fine with it, but I need to say it aloud lest anyone here has the wrong impression. You all can’t seriously agree with me that the best way to do this – _if_ we do this – would be to conceive the kits in the biblical sense?”

 

Everyone nodded.

 

“To make feet for kit’s stockings?”

 

Again, everyone nodded.

 

“Go and swap burrows?”

 

“Yes, Wilde, we all know what you mean, and we all agree. Even you’re nodding,” Jack pointed out.

 

“But this? This?? This is one hell of an alternative, Jack,” Nick argued.

 

“Like our current alternatives are working worth a shit right now?” Skye countered. “What we’ve been doing so far has been betting against the house. All that’s gotten us is lost time, time we can’t get back. This plan would be surefire.”

 

They all sat in silence for a moment. They all realized that this might be it.

 

“Are we really thinking about doing this?” Judy asked.

 

“I think we are,” Skye answered back.

 

This was it.

 

“Okay-okay-okay,” Nick waved his paws and spoke with a little more volume and control, “since it’s clear that our collective is giving this some serious thought, before we move forward with this very brazen idea, I think we should put it to a blind vote.”

 

“A blind vote?”

 

“Yeah. It’s one thing to talk a big game in front of your close friends and your partner. I say we all need to go home, sober up, have an honest talk with our spouses, and then meet up again. At this meeting of the minds, we close our eyes, I state the conditions aloud of what we are gonna do, and we give a show of paws on who is really, really committed to the idea and seeing it through.

 

“A fifth party, someone removed from all of us, will give us the honest paw count on who wants in.”

 

Nick paused, took a breath. He felt winded, and he was amazed that it was just from brainstorming and talking. “Sound like a game plan?”

 

Jack, Skye, Nick and Judy all nodded. Soon after, they called it a night. On good terms.

 

~

 

The next day, sobered up and in private, each couple talked. They were honest and open and talked the entire plan through. They discussed worries, insecurities, fears. They discussed their options, their alternatives. What would work and what hadn’t worked, because nothing else had worked. They discussed dreams, aspirations, hopes, and excitement.

 

They discussed becoming more in life.

 

Each couple, and by extension, each partner in the partnership, came to an honest, mutual agreement.

 

~

 

The next week, all four met up at a restaurant for lunch and to cast their votes for the plan. While neither couple had announced a formal dress code for the occasion, all four opted to dress up as if they were double dating for the first time. There was a nervous air of first-date excitement between each couple.

 

Sitting at a circular table meant for four small-sized mammals, they had also obtained the fifth-party witness: a moose waiter who politely agreed to come over and oversee some sort of vote. Nick explained that the waiter’s job was to only make a note of how many mammals raised their paws and tell the table when all eyes opened. Nothing more. Nothing less. They’d tip triple for truthful accuracy.

 

The waiter squinted at him, then at the rest of the table, looking for signs of a joke in the making. He saw none, so with a shrug, he agreed.

 

All closed their eyes, bowing their heads to the table and flattening their ears back. Nick began, his cadence laced with the reverence and caution of someone leading prayer.

 

“Okay,” – deep breath – “we all know what we’re asking of each other. We know what this agreement does and does not mean for each of us. But, before we all decide to go forward with it, everyone at this table – except the waiter – needs to know that if at anytime you feel uncomfortable, or if you are unsure about doing this, all you need to do is say so. None of us have any right to judge you. None of us will. No hard ribbing, no remarks, no looks, nothing. We cannot do that to each other. These last few years have been really hard on each of us as individuals, and each of us as partners. We’ve been kicked so long and so hard that I’m sure our ribs are going to reset crooked. No need to add salt to the wounds. I’m gonna say it again. You want out, the rest of us owe it to agree to the out.

 

“The whole, uh, ‘process’ itself may induce some awkward moments and otherwise. I mean, it likely will. But we have known each other for years, been friends for years, and know each other through and through. In this, we’re also agreeing not to judge or become petty or disheartened or disillusioned by something that may, and likely will, occur during the ordeal itself.

 

“But this isn’t for fun. This is for all of us. This is to become more.”

 

The waiter looked from rabbit, to fox, to the other rabbit, to the other fox. _What on Earth are they talking about?_ he thought.

 

“So, in review, that’s what we are all agreeing to. To create for each other, knowing it mayyyy get a little awkward. But hey, can’t make an omelet unless you break a few eggs, right? If there’s anything I missed that anyone thinks is necessary to voice, I hereby relinquish the conch to you.” A moment of snorts and quick exhales of laughter, but no one had anything else to add.

 

Nick paused, took a deep breath, and asked, “Alright. That’s it, then. All in favor?”

 

A moment of silence to vote.

 

“All against?”

 

Another moment of silence to vote.

 

“Alright, all paws on the table, and in three seconds, we open our eyes and the very patient waiter tells us the tally.”

 

Three seconds later, and they were watching the waiter pour their waters. He must’ve missed his cue. It took a painful bit of prompting.

 

“So?” Jack asked for them all. “What’s the count?”

 

The water shrugged. “Four for four. All in. Whatever it is you guys are voting on, all four paws went straight up and stayed there for the whole time. No votes for ‘all against.’ It was practically in sync, how all your little paws went right up.” The rest of what the waiter droned on about, such as lunch specials and the soup of the day, was lost on all four of them.

 

They stared at each other.

 

Judy took Nick’s paws in hers and looked to Jack and Skye, who mirrored their action. Tears were starting to well up in Judy’s eyes. Her voice was a small whisper, a delicate tone, something practically unheard of for the first bunny Cop in Zootopia.

 

“Jack. Skye. You’d really do that? You would really do that for us?”

 

Jack wiped at his own eyes. He could only nod with a wide smile, a quick, frantic motion so that he wouldn’t break down in front of his wife. Or in front of Wilde.

 

Skye answered for both her and Jack. “Of course, Judy. Of course we would. You and Nick?”

 

“We’d be happy to,” Judy said, now wiping her face on Nick’s sleeve.

 

The foxes managed to keep their own waterworks at bay. Barely, and through humor and jubilant elation alone. “You bunnies. So emotional, aren’t they?” Nick asked Skye.

 

“Always have been, even under their tough exteriors.”

 

After regaining control of themselves and having a noontime toast, Nick looked around the table and asked, “Soooo. I guess this is the part where we propose when and where we swap?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This short is NOT a story about: cheating, being unfaithful, having wayward thoughts, feeling devastated by spousal betrayal, or even a sexy story about a four-way, orgy of the sort, or swinging (sorry for those wishing this was heading there, but c’mon! Might as well play that cheesy ‘70s porno music with that kind of transition). This is about two couples, four close friends, who want children more than anything else, and that they mutually agree to a solution. This is a story about becoming more in life. Part 2 is in the works.
> 
> Thank you to DrummerMax for editing this and turning around this nearly 10,000 word pt 1 so damn quick!
> 
> And a thank you to Eng050599 for letting me briefly bring up the Honeywell Centre from his fanfic 'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams.' You want a fascinating and emotionally brutal story focusing solely on the near impossibility of interspecies pregnancy and the actual science behind it? Eng has your fix.


	13. Two and Two Becoming More Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about 4 close friends – two couples – that find a way around a tilted and hateful system to start their own families.

The four of them planned. Over the next three months, setting aside time to have beers and talk face to face, the group made it a point to hash out their tasks and questions. They all knew about the pitfalls of Poe’s law, of how dangerously easy it was to make incorrect assumptions through plain text.

 

Judy, the natural born planner/organizer, usually led with the questions, and she and the group answered. Usually with rapid, trailing, disorganized, and mostly cohesive and concurrent answers.

 

Q: Okay, so: same day or different day for each couple?

 

Group Consensus: Why not do it all at once on the same day? Not like we’re making multiple doctor’s appointments just yet. We’ll get to that _fun_ part of this journey eventually. How do you think the insurance companies will react to this? Lie if you think it’ll pan out better. Let’s knock it out in an evening. *silence, followed by collective snickering.* Heh, you said knock it out. Should be knocking it up. *more snickering.*

 

Q: And where should we hold our ceremony? Anywhere in particular?

 

Group Consensus: Calling it a ceremony makes it sound like we’re in a cult. Yeah. Although we’d make a kickass cult. Undoubtedly. Do these kinds of things count as cult activity? If we swung regularly and did sacrificial stuff, then yes, I’d say it’s fair game to classify us a cult. Hmm, how about at a hotel? Seems kinda one-sided to go to either of our places to do it. A hotel would be like neutral ground for all of us. Yeah, let’s book a night at a hotel.

 

Q: You guys want to do the whole night or just an evening?

 

Group Consensus: If we’re paying for a room, then we’re paying for the whole night, so we might as well stay. Yeah, why not? We can check out the fur flicks on pay-per-view afterwards and order pizza and beer. What, watch porn as a group? Okay, before we get all judgmental, need I remind everyone here that we are going to be having sex with one another. Checking out - and more importantly making fun of - porn produced in the mid to late eighties and maybe the early nineties is not a far cry from that. So don’t throw rocks from a glass house! Fair point.

 

Q: We doing this all in the same room? Or . . . are we thinking different rooms?

 

Group Consensus: Personally, I’m kosher with same room for us all. Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were fully on board with this idea, Wilde. We’re going to be having each other’s kits, Jack. Believe me, the nudity and everything we’re gonna do does not bother me in the slightest. You don’t think it’ll be even a little awkward? And splitting up to do this doesn’t sound more awkward? Okay, that’s also a good point. Yeah, if we’re gonna go through with this, might as well go all the way and make it a grand spectacle . . . Wow, what does this say about us? That we are too comfortable with nudity, and now apparently, doing it in front of each other? It clearly says a lot.

 

Q: Cheese and crackers, guys, are we all going to have sex with each other on the same bed at the same time? I just really want to make sure we’re all okay with this plan of attack.

 

Group Consensus: Same bed? Ha, it’ll be like trying to find footing on a trampoline. Yeah, yeah, real funny. I’m not gonna say it’s a bad idea. Seems kinda fitting for the whole event. Just rent out a large mammal suite. One of those mattresses can easily sleep all four of us. And they’d have those colossal-sized pillows. We can build a privacy wall right down the middle for each of us if anyone here gets stage fright. Looking at you, Jack. Was that a challenge, Wilde?

 

Q: Please save the pissing contest for another time. But yeah, that all actually does sound good, pillow wall and all. Anyone got a place in mind?

 

Group Consensus: Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I think only Skye and myself have stayed at the Palms. I’d be willing to pitch in for the penthouse suite there if you all would like to make this special occasion of ours even more so. Oh, that sounds like so much fun! They have complimentary champagne and an outdoor Jacuzzi on the balcony. Never legally stayed anywhere that nice, so yeah, let’s do it . . . Why are you all looking at me like that?

 

Q: Are we gonna need lube? Should I bring lube?”

 

Group Consensus: . . .

 

Q: Oh c’mon! _That’s_ the question that silences all of you?!

 

Group Consensus: I mean, Jack, Nick, you guys wouldn’t be offended if Judy and I, uh, you know, needed some lube to make things go smoother? No one here wants to go in on a dry run. No, it makes sense. This is more work than it is play, after all. I mean, either way, we’re all gonna be a little closer after this event, so it makes no difference to me if lube is needed. Not a stab at my mammalhood.

 

Q: Mammals are gonna think we’re crazy.

 

Group Consensus: Ask them if they’ve been stonewalled for years when trying to have kits. Yeah. There’s plenty that already think foxes and bunnies marrying each other is crazy enough. Who gives a flying fuck what others think of us for this?

 

Q: I like it! Alright, that seems to be it. All in?

 

Group Consensus: All in.

 

~

 

At The Palms, the front desk employee made an admirable attempt at conversation while the credit cards processed and the key card coded. Surely, small talk about guests’ evenings wasn’t a violation of any serious policy.

 

“Sooo, special occasion?” the red panda asked, after learning that they had booked online, and that ‘they’ included four mammals, two pairs of foxes and bunnies.

 

Jack answered, “That is correct.” Nothing more. The other three remained silent and kept staring at the staff member.

 

“Cool, cool.” The red panda – her nametag read _Mia_ – made an unconvincing face of disinterest, and then she read what room they had rented. To what credit remained, she at least tried to not sound too much like a prying 17 year old, even if she asked the question while looking up from the guest login book.

 

“You are aware that the Pachyderm Penthouse Suite you requested has only one bed, sir?” The buck would be aware of the error, now that she had pointed it out. It had to be a mistake, since there were clearly two couples, friends in town for –

 

“We are aware that there is only one bed.”

 

Mia looked up from the desktop at all four of them. Both foxes had that slick, aerodynamic look to them: sharp, angled cheek fur and ears with vibrant eyes, both in color and in persona. The female rabbit would likely be found in the dictionary under one of the provided examples for both the words ‘cute’ and ‘beautiful.’ The male rabbit, the one serving as the group’s spokesmammal, held an assured air of confidence – sans the arrogance that often paired with such a characteristic – in both his posture and presence. She pegged the buck for a lawyer, maybe one talented enough to be on corporate retainer.

 

The four of them, all together, were a very good-looking group of young mammals. They wanted the penthouse suite that came with complimentary champagne. They wanted a room with only one bed. For one whole night.

 

“Oh.”

 

It occurred a second later to Mia that she had voiced her realization aloud. The buck’s eyebrows furrowed, and one side of the red fox’s mouth curved ever so slightly upwards. The two females looked nonplussed. Mia was instantly thankful for red fur.

 

The coding machine remained silent, its lights dark and indicative that it was taking a painful while longer than usual to code the room cardkey.

 

“Would, uhm, you be interested in the complimentary breakfast being delivered to the room in the morning?” Mia asked, praying that the answer would cover the remaining coding time.

 

It didn’t.

 

“Yes please,” the buck answered immediately, face a serious mask.

 

“And the complimentary midnight specials as well?” Mia nodded towards the foxes, as if to convey ‘in special consideration for them.’

 

“Yes. Also, please inform the staff that will be bringing up our food and drink that when they arrive, they need to knock loudly.”

 

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘loudly’?”

 

“Yes,” Jack now strained a little more, “so that we four can hear them when they arrive.”

 

The regret was instant for the red panda the moment the loaded question left her lips. “Why?” Strike Two. The moment that word passed through the air, her paws flew to her mouth as if they could have reeled back the word and the subsequent embarrassed gasp.

 

Jack’s face became a sheet of quiet anger at the unprofessional question with the world’s most likely answer. He let the clock tick for a few audible moments, just to see if he could smell red panda sweat, before he spoke.

 

“ _‘Why?’_ Because we _might_ be _busy_ ,” Jack ground out each word. The red panda’s face dropped, eyes widening and throat going desert dry. Mia’s paws were already on their way up to her sides in apology, as if Jack was robbing her at gunpoint, when the angered look on the buck melted away in a second. “The machine has finished coding our room keycard. May I?” Jack put one paw out. The coder’s lights were steadily flashing. Finished.

 

Mia, without breaking eye contact, quickly pulled the room key card and placed it into his palm. She made sure her fingers didn’t come into contact with any side of his fur.

 

Jack turned, and the three mammals hiding their smirks joined him as they walked to the elevator. One seemed more delighted about the awkward interaction than the others.

 

Skye couldn’t help it, couldn’t stand to let a good opportunity go to waste. The vixen made sure to make a public scene of sliding her paw down Jack’s back and just below his tail. Out of the corner of her eye, Skye made sure that the red panda looked on as she gave her rabbit a light squeeze. Jack pretended to ignore the advance, willing his body to not become noticeably aroused. Skye met the startled eyes of the red panda with a wide, possessive smile. She wished the panda was still close enough to hear her growling.

 

“You should have teased her a little more,” the vixen whispered to her mate while sneaking glances back. “I think she liked you.”

 

“You feelin’ a little, uh, ‘possessive’, Skye?” Nick teased.

 

“It is April,” Skye shrugged, “but hey, who’s keeping track of who’s in season. I bet that panda knows now.”

 

“She did ask a very inappropriate question that she had no business knowing,” Jack replied. He wiggled his rear, trying to shake a persistent white paw. “And please, she did not like me. She had no more interest in me than each of us individually. She just wanted to catch some exciting ‘gossip’ to spread to her girlfriends.”

 

“Such as?” Judy asked.

 

“Such as four mammals renting out a room to have sex with each other for the purpose of making babies,” Jack replied as the four of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the elevator. “That’s certainly gossip.”

 

Skye made sure to throw in a purposeful wink to the still staring red panda before the doors whisked them up.

 

~

 

The champagne was waiting for them when they arrived. They didn’t need to get sauced to warm up for their event, but all had a glass of that complimentary bubbly anyway. As they sipped, they began to tackle the process of preemptively building their moderate pseudo-privacy wall with the massive pillows. As they saw what they could do with pillows as wide and tall as they were, the four also began to undress. One moment they were testing two pillows by propping them back-to-back to form a wall, the next a shirt was being shed or pants were being unbuttoned and pulled off.

They didn’t have to get inebriated to become comfortable with each other in nothing but their fur. All of them had seen most of the others’ bodies several times throughout their shared years, though in no way directly in sexual pursuit.

 

A rule of thumb they all had come to enjoy: skinny-dipping was fun in pairs. In a tightknit group with the right mammals, it’s a Molotov-throwing, window-breaking riot. Several times, the opportunity had given all four, aside from material to poke fun at each other with, the innocent opportunity to wonder what the other two looked like in the nude. It was a comforting fact that they all knew was not wandering eyes nor entertaining ideas of infidelity, but more of a curiosity they could all safely explore from a comfortable distance.

 

Tonight, they addressed their group while disrobing with the same attitude: casual, respectful (mostly), and with honest acceptance and comfort in what they were about to do.

 

Now, all four were once again naked, but not at the fringe of the woods and running towards a lake. All were bulls-eyed on a bed large enough to sleep two elephants, with enough square footage alone to legally count as a studio apartment for medium-sized mammals. Towards the baseboard was a collection of pillows that were sturdy enough to be used as a divider if necessary.

 

Now, with the girls sitting naked, legs beginning to drift open and apart, and the boys standing in the nude in front of them . . .

 

“This – this is a little . . . nope, this is completely different than taking a glance when skinny-dipping,” muttered Judy.

 

“Of course it’s different,” Skye agreed, more forcing herself to look head on at Nick, who stood a few inches from her with an indifferent and mildly cautious look on his face. It was the same gaze all four were giving their new dance partner for the evening. Mild trepidation. Like tiptoeing into cold water. “It’s one thing to casually catch a glimpse of red or pink from someone else’s weapon as opposed to staring directly down the barrel.”

 

Skye said this while staring down at the cream-colored fur of Nick’s genitals with the same nervousness as someone justifying why it really was harder to go off the 10-meter versus the 3-meter diving board. Either way, it was jumping into foreign and untested waters.

 

Jack, meanwhile, was beginning to lean over Judy, face pinched in observation and head craning over and around her lower waist as he made note of every feature of her sex. If they were going to do this, then he had to be ready in that physical sense. Problem was, Jack’s sexuality, like everyone else’s in the room, was keyed to a different lock. Judy was attractive, but compared to his wife? Candle versus bonfire. And his body knew it and didn’t react the way they all needed it to.

 

So, operating on logic, Jack had bent over Judy, nose beginning to twitch. Scenting was how all mammals used to check if a mate was ready or in season. He had heard Nick’s thoughts on ‘hard wiring.’ Maybe this would provide a fresh spark to get the old system going. As the buck’s nose wiggled, working up to a more full-bodied inhale, he crossed and folded his paws behind his back, like he was inspecting a museum piece.

 

“Is this what you call foreplay, Jack?” Judy asked with an unamused face.

 

Jack looked up at her with an almost impatient, if not outright strained, expression. “It was only a matter of time before Wilde starting rubbing off on you, Judy.”

 

All three heard one male fox snort in delight.

 

“But no, jerk. Not foreplay, just checking to see if this can get me going.” Jack leaned in a little closer, within a few inches of Judy’s sex, and all three mammals watched with fascinated shock at seeing his nostrils dilate and twitch as he took a deep inhale.

 

Their shock was not in audacity. It wasn’t like they knew what they were about to do. It was just surprising to see Jack, who everyone in the group agreed upon as the ‘conservative one,’ be the one to jump into the pool headfirst.

 

Jack stood straight up and hmmed, like he had made a pleasant discovery.

 

Judy’s jaw dropped. Nick bit back the bark of laughter, his lips curling over his teeth at watching Jack take a swing and a miss with spectacular inaccuracy. Skye, knowing Jack inside and out, knew what he was trying to get at, but wanted to see if he could work his way out without any help.

 

“‘Hmm’?! That’s your reaction?!” Judy shouted. Jack wasn’t prepared for that reaction, and didn’t have an immediate comeback.

 

“ _This_ ,” Judy continued, motioning to her sex with the enthusiasm of a sportscaster gesturing the current play to the audience, “all of _this_ is just a ‘hmm’ to you? ‘Hmm’ is what you say when you’re choosing between the twelve and fourteen dollar wines at the liquor store, Jack!” With her ecstatic enthusiasm, Judy turned to her husband.

 

“Nick! If my pussy was a wine bottle, what would it be ‘valued’ at?!”

 

“I’d personally put it at the nine hundred bottle of cabernet sauvignon on the top shelf. The one that always makes me consider going back to a life of conning,” he answered. “First thing that comes to mind.”

 

Judy turned back to Jack with a ‘SEE?’ look plastered across her face and posture. In his defense, Jack managed to hide his amused smile. Mostly. “Oh, stop. You know I meant no offense. Just . . . seeing what my body’s reaction would be to scenting you.”

 

Now, all four stared at one male rabbit’s privates. More than half-mast. Much more than it was before.

 

“Okay, so it’s something,” Judy admitted, a little surprised at feeling proud that she had at least _some_ sexual effect on a male rabbit. Even if it wasn’t for sexual fulfillment, she had been starting to feel a little unattractive at seeing a member of her own species sexually react to her with the same vigor as going to the dentist’s.

 

“Not to sound callous and cold, guys, but we can’t really make babies with just ‘something’,” Skye interjected. She was staring at the red thumb length protruding from Nick’s sheath.

 

Skye gave Nick a convincing look of absolute offense. His turn for ribbing. “What? You get the chance to dog around on your wife with no possible repercussions and you’re not hard as a rock? And for me, a fellow fox, no less? I’m practically giving you the PlayMammal centerfold here, Nicky. I’m heartbroken.”

 

Judy managed to hide her own snickering behind a hard exhale. Jack put a closed fist to his mouth to hide the smile.

 

“Only my mother calls me Nicky, and if you, or anyone, calls me that name again, you all will only get to see my sheath and peaches for the evening. No red-rocket,” Nick fired back.

 

Jack glanced at Nick’s ‘halfway there’ and muttered, “Honestly?”

 

“ _Honestly_ what, Stripes?”

 

“You get complete access to that breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous ivory mammal on the bed, and _that_ is the best you can do? ‘Going soft’ is way too easy to lob at you without feeling guilty, Wilde.”

 

“Oh, blow me! I don’t see you tackling the hottest piece of bunny in the city over there!”

 

“Tackle her with _what_?! My charm? I can’t do my job if the equipment is fully functioning, Fox!”

 

“My point exactly, Rabbit!”

 

As the males continued to trade their barbs – an unspoken game with tallies only they kept – Skye leaned over to Judy and whispered into one ear, “You know, I think your husband had an idea there.”

 

The arctic fox kept whispering into the bunny’s ear, reiterating what had been said and why it might actually be a good idea.

 

Judy turned and looked at Skye, face wide with surprise. Judy cautioned, “You’re saying you want to do Nick and I’ll do Jack?”

 

Skye’s face quickly mirrored Judy’s, wide with surprise. “Oh! I was actually thinking we switch to the right partner . . . ”

 

Each female was equally surprised at both the other, themselves, and that they were thinking along the same lines. They broke into breathless laughter that was ignored by their husbands, laughing till they started pawing at each other.

 

“You wanna mess with them?” Skye whispered, eyes taking on the same glint she had in the lobby. “Pose the question and watch em crack?”

 

“That might cause them to faint,” Judy said with an equally amused grin. “Which does sound like fun, but, we have a task at paw and we can’t really do it if the two of them are knocked flat on their butts.”

 

“Another time,” Skye agreed. “Messing with them like that might be a bit much on top of this grand experience.” They traded agreeing winks and turned back to see if either male had conceded in the battle of wits. Neither had.

 

The boys only stopped their competition at hearing and then seeing their partners crawl over each other, so that Skye and Judy faced Jack and Nick, respectively.

 

Both of the guys read the looks on their spouses’ faces with full clarity. “Wait,” Nick started, looking across everyone in confusion, “I thought the point of this was not to sleep with our S.O.’s? Why are youuuu ohhh goddd – ”

 

The rest of his words trailed off at feeling Judy’s face nuzzle his organ, at feeling her warm exhale against the sides of his testicles and up to the base of his sheath. Both of her arms began snaking up the sides of his legs, fingers dancing their way up to his rear and to the base of his tail. It all sent a warm, buzzing wave over his fur and into his skin.

 

“Are we – oh sweet god – are we putting the ‘event’ on hold?” Nick managed to get out.

 

“Not on hold. We can’t start the ‘event’ if you aren’t fully there, sweetheart,” Judy said up to him, “and all three of us need you to be. Think of this as the incentive for your performance.” Before Nick could try and steady himself by joking about how officer performance reviews weren’t that great of an incentive, the feeling of a very warm and wickedly wet mouth closing around the tip of his organ killed the joke in his throat.

 

Jack felt his jaw coming down and snapped it back closed. He didn’t mean to stare at them, but they were now undoubtedly the center of attention in the room, and he saw his wife peeking from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t the first time the four of them had trespassed into more openly sexual territory. Strictly monogamous, but there was that one instance of voyeurism where both couples were in their separate tents, side-by-side and alone in the woods camping, having very loud and very enthusiastic sex to see who would finish first. Or possibly for who could make their partner scream the loudest. A moment they never really talked about, just traded smug glances with each other over breakfast the next morning.

 

That was then, having a tongue in cheek (maybe literally) battle of sexual prowess while maintaining the mutually respected boundaries. Jack had been completely fine with that. Was completely fine with the plan to have children. But this? This was no longer sex for conception’s sake. Nick and Judy had moved passed the clinical into completely sexual.

 

For the moment, Judy and Nick had decided to put their collective task on the backburner. It was a moment of shock for the buck.

 

The sharp, cutting sensation that tore across Jack’s thigh almost – _almost_ – produced a high-pitched squeak, the telling sound of a startled bunny, sex and experiences irrelevant. He was able to catch it escaping his mouth and turned it into a sharp inhale. Jack looked down to see a pair of familiar eyes, radiant blue pooling around black predatory slits. Skye’s mouth was wrapped around his thigh, right beneath his balls.

 

Skye’s lips pulled back from fur in a devious, delighted smile, the action displaying the nearly pearlescent teeth pinching down into his leg. She had crawled over to him, and he, who was so enraptured, had failed to notice the approaching predator. That thrilled him. The sharp and exquisite feeling of her biting into him, bordering into sensory overload, was enough to throw his eyes into the back of his head. The wet sounds of Judy servicing a growling Nick not even a foot away from him registered and did not tamper Jack’s mood in the slightest.

 

Wilde was right. This evening would say plenty about them.

 

The fox released the rabbit, and the jolt of electricity that sparked through Jack put all of his hairs on end. He consciously fought with his body to keep his tail from puffing out into a round cotton swab.

 

“I love how easy it is to get you excited,” Skye whispered, staring at his now completely erect member. Her lips pulled back once more to reveal that dangerous smile, something Jack learned he found irresistible the first time he met her. “I love the effect I have on you.”

 

“Which effect was that again? The immediate arousal? Or the hyper alert, prey-is-terrified adrenaline rush that is probably sweating through my feet right now?”

 

“Both,” Skye answered with a wide smile before taking his cock into her mouth. Much like Judy, Jack had discovered that a predator’s teeth – a fox’s teeth – were the gateway into the most fulfilling sexual pleasures. They, and the rest of the fox form, were the ultimate becoming into his sexuality. Jack only regretted that he had not known of his ideal sexual preference from the get-go.

 

That was dwelling on the past, and in the present, the wet sounds of sucking and the increasingly enthused moans from Jack and Nick were filling their penthouse suite. Even if the both of them had gone up to the room thinking they were only going to sleep with the other’s partners and not make it a hedonistic event, this was not an unwelcome momentary change of course. Though no one would admit it to the other couple, the sounds and scents from other mammals becoming intimate were adding kerosene to a rapidly growing fire. It did nothing to dilute or diminish the atmosphere of familiarity, of mutuality, and even understanding.

 

Skye got her nonverbal cue to stop her attentions when Jack began to practically crawl onto her head, his paws reaching down the back of her head, his legs trying to move forward to allow a better angle for thrusting. Judy’s cue was feeling Nick’s claws beginning to push with a blissfully sweet yet barely painful stinging sensation into her shoulders and up against the back of her scalp. The swelling base on top of his testicles was another trustworthy indicator.

 

Both Skye and Judy stopped and looked from their partner’s panting faces to their completely erect genitals. The performing of the acts itself put both girls in an equal state of slicked arousal. The room smelled strongly of them all.

 

“And there! We! Go!” Skye declared, gripping the bunny’s shoulders and turning Jack abruptly in Judy’s direction, “now you’re all set, love! Go remind Judy of that famous bunny stamina.”

 

And just like that, the original plan was back on. From sensual to practical.

 

“Oh God Skye, you make it sound like we’re swinging for any reason aside from baby making.” Jack tried to come off serious, but the small hiccups of laughter gave him away.

 

“It’s not like we have to act like textbook conservatives and remain completely quiet throughout this,” Judy chimed in, pushing against Nick’s rear and tail towards Skye, the way a smaller sibling tries to move an older and much larger one. ”I’m pretty sure it was said at dinner that we’re all expecting some unexpected, uh, sensations. And, you know, accompanying soundtracks. I know that I’m okay with it. Now Nick, as your wife, I am giving you full permission to go knock up another married mammal.”

 

“Words I thought I’d never hear,” Nick said through a sincere smile. “And I’m not just quoting that beat-to-death saying. I mean, I _really_ never thought I’d actually hear such a command in my natural life.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Jack hurried him along, “this is quite something, and we can bask in our accomplishment when it’s that: accomplished. But please, be a doll and pass the lube so we can all avoid any further awkward moments.” The bottle was tossed from one to the other, each mammal squeezing out a row of fluid onto their sexes and applying generously.

 

“Any last minute rules? Thoughts? Concerns?” Skye asked as she scooted towards Nick. After the two bunnies shrugged their shoulders – _all set here_ – Skye turned towards Nick and stated, “I really don’t have to mention that _that_ ” – she pointed to the swelling mass Nick had managed to coax from his sheath – “isn’t going in me, do I?”

 

“Skye, don’t take this the wrong way, but no, it’s _knot_ ,” Nick said. He managed it with a completely straight face.

 

“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of those jokes again?” Judy asked. Jack was shaking his head.

 

“Like I’m back in high school.”

 

“I proudly wear ‘most sophomoric’ between us all,” Nick said.

 

They eased into it without any more talk. All of their starting shots were not loud or excited yells or outright moans. All four of them, upon feeling their bodies meeting and connecting, let out audible sighs as the familiar sensations rolled through them. The physical pleasure of sex was there, but that was all it was. It lacked the passion, intimacy, and private familiarity of their spouses. In the truest sense, it was more like the awkward ‘first time’ coupled with the robust and honest degree of their kinship. The sex itself was only a sensation, and as odd as it was to admit, it easily beat the physical sensations of dread and failure they had endured over the last several years.

 

Even though they had built the formation of a wall for their respective privacy, no one voiced needing it. The females folded up into the males, embracing them in a loose hug in order to move their hips with them and to help them along. All four kept their eyes closed and either touched foreheads or craned into each other’s necks. In this coupling, as they worked together to find a mutually satisfactory rhythm, the four became acutely aware of just how profoundly emotional this moment had become. Their act was moving into a level of trust that went well beyond their friendship. It made the actions that much easier, feeling that selfless form of kindness and understanding that they thought only their partner could provide.

 

There was no touching, no wandering paws towards erogenous zones, no pleading cries or throaty moans. There wasn’t even any kissing. It wasn’t romantic love, because that was between them as spouses only. Nick and Judy’s intimacy was as unique and as committed as Jack and Skye’s. But it was not exclusive, nor isolated. The four of them in this act together, within feet of each other, felt the evolution of their familiar affection as their shared moment developed. It was more profound than their shared moments of their relationships between themselves as friends. More than finding another mammal that understood prejudice. Hearing that they were not alone. This was tethering them together, deepening their friendship into something new and wonderful, if so simplistic a label was so desperately needed. All four of them, as friends, as partners, and as a group, were becoming more.

 

And while it was a truly incredibly experience all the same, no one was disappointed that the sex didn’t drag on any longer than it needed to. It was as both Nick and Jack had said. That hardwiring was all still in there, and their bodies now reacted accordingly. It was easy to see when mammal was finishing. Nick’s tell was his paw abruptly moving to his knot and beginning shallow rollings of his fingers and tight caresses against his knot while pressing completely into Skye. Jack’s was a steady increasing in speed, and then going rigid, and then slow, subdued bows in and out, keeping most of his own body pinned to Judy while he rippled.

 

All four were slightly panting when it was done. All four, with their sighs of relief masked into said panting, felt good. Relieved, excited, and above all else, good. They had done it, no one looked ready to vomit or break down into hysterics, and all four of them were grinning with a bit of pride at having mated with the oldest goal in mind. Both Skye and Judy leaned forward until they were chest-to-chest with their guy friends, and embraced them with a hug.

 

They spoke in whispers that were meant only for the four of them.

 

“Thank you, Jack,” Judy whispered to Jack from his shoulder.

 

“Yes, thank you, Nick,” Skye mirrored, crossing her arms behind the red fox’s back.

 

“You are so welcome,” Jack said to the grey bunny still holding him. He smiled with her.

 

“Thank you all for doing this,” muttered Nick. He was going to say ‘you have no idea how much this means,’ but realized that Jack and Skye were the only other mammals that did have an idea.

 

The girls lay back down onto the beds, and their husbands crawled over to them. Jack cradled Skye’s face with both paws. Judy reached up to Nick’s ear and began scratching.

 

After several minutes of post-coital cuddling, Nick sat up, face set in a mask of intense concentration. The tod couldn’t help the motion, couldn’t help the pull from the base of his brain that commanded him, but he leaned over his wife and began sniffing at her sex at something unfamiliar. The other three went rigid, watching and waiting to see how he’d react when his head popped back up.

 

When it did, Nick seemed surprised with himself. “Well knock me down. It’s a relief to know that I’m not completely nauseated by the smell of your baby batter, Jack.”

 

Jack’s jaw fell slack, his lips starting to curl “Did . . . you just call my ejaculate ‘baby batter’?”

 

“Well, I guess a better term would be ‘baby bunny batter,’ now that I really think about it.”

 

Jack’s face went from shock to revulsion and then to repulsed exasperation. “Oh my GOD! I am not baking a cake, Wilde!”

 

“I beg to differ. You know that old saying. ‘Buns in the oven.’ You put the buns in the oven. So yeah, I guess you kinda are.”

 

Judy couldn’t contain her laughter anymore, and began rolling side to side. Skye, also laughing, managed to get out, “I can’t think of anything original for you, Nick. Fornicating foxes was all I could come up with. Sorry!”

 

“Didn’t someone say it was like we were back in middle school? Ah, what the hell. I’ll give you an ‘A for effort’ for trying to round out the theme.”

 

Jack turned to Judy, still looking floored that Wilde could have such gross thoughts, and asked, “How? How can you possibly love this?” motioning to a now proudly grinning Nick. “Does he do this kind of crap to you, too?”

 

“I – I can’t!” Judy screamed between fits of laughter. Tears had begun forming in the corners of her eyes as she tried to contain herself. One paw shot down her abdomen and pressed up against the entrance to her sex, her fingers going level against her labia as she formed a seal. “If I laugh too much it – it’ll come out!”

 

“Jack, I blame you if my wife laughs hard enough to squirt all your efforts back out over the sheets and she doesn’t get pregnant.”

 

“Aw gross, Nick!” Skye protested. By now all four, Jack included, were in hysterics.

 

“Ah c’mon!” Nick breathed. “We’ve established, and maintained, the weirdest fuckin’ ground rules ever for this sort of thing.

 

“You think others haven’t done this before us?” Jack asked.

 

“I’m fairly sure others were into more pleasurable methods of breeding for both parties compared to the halfway we just did. I’d also bet the farm that there was regular and enthused swapping in these other instances you speak of,” explained Nick. “Annnnd I’d bet there’d be some bicuriosity in the air, too.”

 

Nick looked Jack in the eyes and waggled his eyebrows, whisking his tail with short, static swings. One triangle ear flicked with measured purpose.

 

“No,” Jack deadpanned.

 

“Am I too _Wilde_ for you, monsieur?” Nick pantomimed a playful paw at Jack. Now, Skye joined Judy in rolling back and forth on the mattress, laughing and keeping her own paws pressed in between her thighs.

 

“Nowhere near as _Savage_ as I will be if you even think about trying to hug me while we’re naked, renard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this idea. this will be a one chapter story.
> 
> Or two. Yeah, too long now to be one giant chapter. Gonna be two.
> 
> Three. Three chapters and then that's that.
> 
>  
> 
> Remember that time Twocent tried to write something short, like 5000 words? I don't either.
> 
> Thanks to Drummer for his proofing!! Part three happenin.


	14. Two and Two Becoming More Pt. 3 (Conclusion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story about 4 close friends – two couples – that find a way around a tilted and hateful system to start their own families.

 

1 month later

 

Judy read the directions. Reread them. Watched a Ewetube video just to be sure, to watch theory put into practice, to bolster her confidence in making a near flawless replication of the results.

 

She lowered the stick down past her legs, under her sex, above the toilet water, released the pressure in her pelvic floor, and peed all over her thumb, forefinger, and most of the pregnancy test.

 

“Ah! No! Damnit!” She fumbled with the now slick piece of testing plastic, nearly dropping it in the bowl.

 

She heard her husband speak from the other side of the door. “Peed on your paw?”

 

Judy felt her ears warm to a noticeable degree. “Did not.”

 

“Well, I didn’t know you were into watersports, Carrots. I learn something new about you every day. I love it.”

 

“Shut up!” she tried yelling without laughing. “I can’t aim if you’re going to crack jokes, Nick!”

 

“I thought you loved a challenge?”

 

“I practically drank half a gallon of Sunny D for this! You’re gonna make me go and have to drink the other half gallon!”

 

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop cracking wise and let you get back to practicing your aim, Juno.”

 

“Juno didn’t have Michael Beara nibbling at his claws outside the bathroom door, anxiously waiting on the test results.”

 

There was a very brief pause – caught red-pawed – before Nick came back with, “I will have you know, madam, that I am not nibbling at my claws nor am I anxious.” Their conversation paused, with Judy grinning at having got the fox’s proverbial goat, if not a little.

 

“You aren’t making any sounds,” she chided. “Waiting on something?”

 

“Yes, I am waiting on my wife, with calm and collected patience, to pee not on her paw but on that twenty-nine dollar pregnancy test.”

 

“Okay,” she affirmed, looking back down at her lower half, “alright.” The idea to just pee and place the stick into the stream suddenly occurred to her, and Judy bit back the slight frown of embarrassment at not having come to that plan in the first place. Well, her stomach still ached from the need to void, so she released and placed the plastic detection tip into the stream.

 

She pulled the test back to eye level after her bladder emptied and stared at the indicator window. Her cognition became static and objective, a logic gate to assess input and produce the correct output. She’d wait the whole three minutes it would take to determine her state.

 

_One line, not pregnant_ , she thought. _Two lines, pregnant_.

 

The little window displayed one line.

 

_One line, not pregnant._

 

The little window displayed one line.

 

_One line, not pregnant._

 

The little window displayed one line.

 

_One line, not pregnant._

 

The little window displayed two lines.

 

_Two lines, pregnant._

 

The little window –

 

It displayed. Two lines. Two. Not one. But before Judy could glance and see if there were really two lines, she pinched her eyes shut, exhaled very hard, and put all of her concentration into sight. The bunny opened her eyes, looked at the display window, and saw one line –

 

Followed by another line. Two lines.

 

“Pregnant,” she muttered.

 

Nick kicked in – _literally_ kicked in the damn door – and _literally_ yelled, “Did you just say you’re pregnant!?” He looked as if he had pulled the winning lotto ticket and the realization was still processing. And when Judy nodded that yes, she was indeed pregnant, winning the lottery seemed an appropriate parallel.

 

~

 

Skye had always associated having to use a pregnancy test with a colossal fuck-up from a previous and risky outing. Back then, before Jack and before wanting a family, the plastic sticks had been an indicator that your life had changed course, that you were on the wrong train going in the wrong direction. She distinctly remembered having to be the one waiting anxiously in the hallway outside the bathroom as an old girlfriend of hers urinated on one of these things after two full weeks had passed and no blood. In that case, the result was that blood would not be arriving for a definitive period of time.

 

The whole time while waiting in solidarity for her friend, Skye was thanking the Gods that she was the one in the hall and wasn’t the one sobbing in the bathroom.

 

It was almost funny, how her world now was the inverse. Skye was now the mammal sitting on the toilet with a blush pink piece of plastic in her paw. Skye was excited. She wanted to be here, really wanted to see that second line appear.

 

She opened her legs, lowered the tapered end of the device over the bowl, and lessened the restrain on her muscles. The stream splashed right against the strip. Canines, it turned out, naturally had better aim when it came to peeing at specific targets than rabbits.

 

Skye finished emptying her bladder and sat staring at the viewing window. Blink, and you might miss it.

 

Outside the bathroom, Jack heard a sharp inhale, and then the screech. The bathroom door was then kicked open by his wife, panties pulled halfway up her legs. The vixen was too excited to form words. Her face told Jack the results.

 

She was waving a plastic stick around in the air like she had pulled the hot lottery ticket.

 

In a way, it was. What were the odds of two in a row?

 

~

 

4 months later

 

“Can you see them?” Judy asked Nick. Both were at the OB-GYN, staring at the screen currently channeling a black and white living still of what was going on inside her womb.

 

“I see a squished honeycomb-looking thing in scratchy black and white, like I’m watching TV from the fifties. I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and guess that those are the kits?”

 

“The squished honeycomb-looking thing is _our_ kits,” Judy gently corrected with a reassuring smile. While not exactly the type of assembly bees used to store honey, Judy would be lying to say that all of the fetuses pressed together didn’t resemble some sort of blocked and stacked structure.

 

Not only was it such a beautiful moment for her to see them, but so was watching Nick’s face as he stared wide-eyed at the screen.

 

“It almost looks like a smooshed waffle,” Nick commented, trying to keep his growing excitement and joy under control, not wanting to let the delight break apart his cool and collected persona, “and all of the squares filled with syrup. Or in this case, babies.”

 

The OB-GYN looked from bunny to fox, one part amused, one part mildly concerned. “That is the first time I’ve heard multiple fetuses called a ‘smooshed waffle,’ collectively.”

 

“He means it endearingly,” Judy assured.

 

Both women expected Nick to chime in, and both found him staring at the screen, staring at the new life with wide eyes and a growing smile.

 

“I like the sound of that.”

 

“Sound of what? A smooshed waffle? No, none of them can be named Waffle. Maybe a nickname, but not a legally given name.”

 

“No, not that,” Nick chuckled. “Our kits.” Nick paused and smoothed over his wife’s stomach with one paw, fingers tracing over them. He touched her new development with a careful, delicate reverence.

 

“I like the sound of that a lot,” Nick muttered, and then with a little more volume, “although Waffle is a very cute nickname. Can go to either a boy or a girl. Or multiple kits. I really like it.”

 

~

 

Jack and Skye asked several times if their doctor was sure that everything was fine. And several more times, their doctor assured them that everything looked perfectly in order. It was a wave of relief to hear that their kits wouldn’t be torn from them with more cruelty than the previous rounds. They listened, but not really listened, to the doctor as she discussed the more mundane and far less serious news about the pregnancy, such as what hormonal changes Skye would be facing and why her appetite might change.

 

While they pretended to listen, the couple looked at the monitor like it was spelling out the secrets to life itself.

 

It displayed not the secret of life, but the miracle of it. Two shapes, floating side by side. The shapes of mammalian bodies, nothing identifying them as vulpine yet. Little rounded triangles for ears, small tails that were more rat than fox. Short snouts. Limbs curled up in a deep sleep.

 

Skye felt Jack’s paws go to two places; one began smoothing over the fur next to the wand, and the other sought out her free paw.

 

It was all beautiful - blissfully surreal - the first of innumerable moments that Skye would be sharing with her husband and their new kits, but ~~perhaps~~ definitely the best part of their first screening, according to her, was seeing Jack’s nose.

 

It twitched with an irregular cadence, an actual sign of genuine curiosity and fascination, of bunny-esque vulnerability that Jack carefully guarded from all public eyes. Something he worked at consciously, day in and day out, to keep the world from having any more ammunition against just another scared bunny.

 

Right here, staring at his future children, Jack was completely aware of his nose and how ‘cute’ it made him to the world at large. He had chosen to let his guard fall down, because what kind of father would he be if he couldn’t even do that for them? He could teach them to stand up against a world that so far had denied him and his wife the possibility of having children, a world that loved to single out differences and weaknesses, but Jack was sure he could also teach them the value of sympathy, of understanding. So Jack, who came from a home life ripped from the pages of a horror novel, was going to embody what he could be for them, what no one had ever been for him. Strong, respected, worthwhile, understanding, and loving.

 

If that meant relaxing the sheet of tension that was usually pulled taut over his nose, then so be it. A mere pittance for what it would be worth for him, for his wife, and for them, even if it meant he’d have to endure the world calling him that incredibly belittling adjective when he did it in public. The one word with four letters and started with the letter ‘c.’

 

~

 

5 months later

 

They sat in their comfortable silence, watching their city. Outside of their personal bubble, the park was buzzing under the light of the sun. The playsets and sandboxes were crawling with kits, parents lined up at the edges for the younger ones that were constantly asking for mom and dad to ‘Watch Me!’

 

“So who’s gonna be designated watch-mammal when the kits are asking us to watch them slide down slides and jump from jungle gym platforms?” Jack asked them.

 

Judy instantly thumbed over to Nick, who without seeing her gesture, raised his paw along with Skye. They kept their paws dutifully pointed skywards like a pair of teacher’s pets.

 

“I know from experience that foxes can be quite protective of what’s theirs,” Jack mused. “Good to know our spouses will be taking their guarding duties seriously.”

 

“They will be well guarded as I shuttle them from soccer to ballet to piano classes to play dates,” Skye squealed with giddy excitement, thumping her feet against the ground in rapid staccato. “Or from place to place, wherever and whatever. Don’t really care about the exact details.”

 

“I’m thinking of joining the PTA once the kits get to elementary school,” Nick said.

 

Judy rubbed her partner’s arm. It was always wonderful to learn about a new idea, a new plan for their future. No matter how cheesy or how far fetched, hearing Nick guess and postulate and plan for their soon-to-be family made her smile and set her stomach fluttering. “Nick, you’re not going to turn into _that_ parent, are you?”

 

“Oh yeah, I am going to become _that_ parent,” Nick wiggled his eyebrows at her, “I don’t care what school they go to, but wherever they do go will be held to my standards. I’m not going to let our kits receive a subpar education if I can help it.”

 

As the buck and foxes discussed how they should tackle the education, Judy fell silent. Even a few years ago, the caliber of question she had loaded and ready to go really needed a good segue into, one that couldn’t just be thrown in without raised eyebrows and those horribly awkward pauses while intention, purpose, and appropriate reaction registered. That would have been years ago, and a few years less of their relationships having grown and matured. Judy let the question fire from her tongue and to her group.

 

“Hey, do you guys talk about it often?”

 

Intention, purpose, and appropriate reactions were calculated instantly. No one really needed clarification on what ‘it’ was, nor was anyone raising eyebrows in discomfort. Just amusement.

 

Skye’s face took on that trademark fox-smirk. “Oh, the words whispered across pillows.”

 

“Sounds sultry,” Nick teased, as he gave the other pair a sidelong glance to match his insinuation.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jack fired back.

 

“I would!” Judy exclaimed, looking excited and more pleased that her inquiry was being answered, even under an already forming avalanche of casual jabs. “So you guys do too?”

 

“Of course we do,” Skye waved a paw, the bravado in her grin fading into something genuine and pleasant. “Even if it was a one and done kinda deal, doesn’t mean that we only talked about it once. It’s fun to go over it, because how could we not? It was a fun night and an incredibly important night for all four of us. There aren’t many mammals that would have volunteered to do what you and Nick have done for Jack and I, let alone willingly. Even fewer that would have understood what it means to Jack and I that it was you two we did the deed with.”

 

“Well sure,” Nick agreed, “it’s tough to tell anyone that’s not family about it. Outside of our parents, there aren’t many other mammals that would be up for talking about swapping for conception so comfortably.” As he spoke, Nick rubbed along the curve of Judy’s now prominent stomach, a practice that was becoming incredibly commonplace. A practice that had started with Nick so gingerly feeling around her belly, sincerely afraid that he would somehow damage her or their children. After repeated cajoling and constant reassurances that she would not burst or fold under his claws, his paws could not travel with assured and comfortable confidence across her body.

 

“And you guys are still a-okay with the fact that, getting pregnant non withstanding, we had sex with each other?”

 

“Last I checked, our marriage was still in good standing.” Jack looked up from his wife’s belly up to her face, up to her almost pinched eyes and the wide and pleased smile beneath them.

 

“Seems Skye and I are on the same page then,” the buck reported back. “You two seem to be surviving our event with stiff upper lips?”

 

“As crazy as it definitely is, I only see it as a new level of intimacy between us four,” Nick chuckled, still rubbing Judy and still smiling. “Again, I am aware of how crazy that sounds. But it’s like becoming honest to God friends all over again.”

 

“It’s tough to put a hard and quick label on it, but yeah, what Nick said,” Judy chirped. “You two are still our best friends. That we had sex with once. Kinda tough to see you two as only mammals on the side after what we’ve been through to get here.”

 

“Agreed. Although I’ve got to say I would make a dashing side piece,” Nick examined his claws in appreciation, tail whisking.

 

“Oh yeah,” Skye teased her vulpine counterpart, “a real Casanova, he who needed a certain bunny’s assistance in rising to the challenge.” Beneath her, eyes closed and head still moving to the ministrations of her working fingers against his scalp, Jack snickered.

 

“Sticks and stones, Skye,” Nick tisked through an entertained smirk, “all sticks and stones.” His face, still curved with a smile, pinched slightly as a question of his own jumped from his muzzle. “If you had to provide a one word reason for why we did what we did, what would you say?”

 

“Control,” Jack stated. “If we are talking strictly about methodology.”

 

“Is it because the girls had to form finger seals over their vaginas to keep the baby batter from coming out? That seemed to take a lot of self control on their parts.”

 

“You can be oh so _elegant_ in your wording,” Jack hissed in (partial) mock disgust, “and no, albeit good thinking on the girls’ parts. I’d say control because for the first time throughout this journey, we had some degree of control over our outcome. We weren’t putting trust in mammals that didn’t have our best interests at heart, that weren’t going to cheat us or deny us because of reasons X, Y and Z. Skye and I put our trust into two mammals that actually understood what we wanted, and sympathized with us, and wanted to give us this life.”

 

Jack paused, staring off at something only he could see. Folded his bottom lip in, really thought.

 

“You and Judy understood how much it means to have kits,” he added sotto voce, “to be able to start a family in at least a semi normal way. Getting into our relationships now, we all new that we’d have to forfeit the natural way of conceiving them. It was adoption or otherwise. Pregnancy was the textbook definition of a pipedream. But having gone through it with you two? It feels fine. Great, even. As in we are capable of doing this, even if the DNA bases aren’t an exact match. We were even capable of pregnancy, that pipedream I was sure I would have to resign to a fantasy.

 

“Through the conception, through the pregnancy, knowing that at least one parent’s DNA will be carried on with the kits.” Jack paused, shook his head and smiled, as if in the incredibility of it. “I know how hypocritical it sounds, being that we were looking to adopt, but knowing that we will be having children of our own, that they are growing with us and will be delivered to us, children that the closet mammals helped in making with us? That’s more than we all could have ever hoped for.”

 

“Well, all of us are going to be passed on,” Judy looked down at her belly, at Nick’s paws, and then to Skye’s bump, where Jack’s paw was currently resting. “You’re right. It’s not conventional, and it’s not a complete mix with our spouse, but we’ll all still be here, you know?” All of them were now looking at the girls’ bellies, staring and admiring and absorbing and just basking in the warmth of the sunlight and in each other.

 

Judy paused, thought for a moment, and then reached across all of them. She grabbed and collected one paw from each mammal and stacked them together. Her gathering resulted in their legs intertwining helter skelter, fox tails snaking between bunny legs, their bodies pressing side to side, coming into as much physical contact as possible.

 

With all of their paws touching and fingers layering, Judy started talking to all of them. It was purposeful and exact, because sometimes the truth was just that. “This won’t be the first time, and won’t be the last time that I thank all of you for doing this. Because no one except the mammals here would know how much this really does mean. To be able to _carry_ children, to _have_ children. To have something biological passed on. To know that we are going to do commit our lives to something bigger than just us.”

 

Nobody else said a word, not daring to interrupt.

 

“And I still don’t think I’ve got the right words to really tell you how damn incredible and amazing and unbelievable it all is.” In their private huddle, Judy looked around to see three pairs of eyes holding her gaze with calm and caring reassurance. It felt so safe, so protected and understood. They all felt each other’s bodies, warm fur and soft breathes. “Jack. Skye. Nick and I cannot thank you enough for this, and know that this means more to us than you both will ever know. Thank you for giving us the chance to have a family.”

 

Judy bowed her head onto the top of their paws, eyes half lidded and trying not to cry like a dumb and emotional bunny, when she felt Nick’s head smooth up against hers. Felt his warm fur and warmer breath cuddling up alongside her. Then Jack, putting his head in the middle crevice between Nick and Judy. And then Skye, who gently pushed her head in against her husband’s and against Judy’s forehead. And then it was the four of them, holding and feeling and being together in what they had created and what they were now. All four, two couples and four friends, who had come to together to create and find purpose and happiness in something beyond just the four of them. It was a feeling of the new bond they had forged, something that had given each of them the ultimate gift to move forward with. It wasn’t really crying, but a few happy tears flowed from Judy anyway.

 

So they sat, in a listless and stilled huddle with semblance to a comforting rest, letting the friendly and loving warmth pass between them without further direction or dictation, saying everything else needed without having to say a word.

~

 

6 months later

 

“Have you noticed any changes in Judy?” Jack asked Nick.

 

“Besides the fact that she looks cuter the rounder she gets? Because that alone is so cute I think I’ll pass out every time I see her lie down. No offense. I know how you feel about the ‘c’ word.”

 

“The polite thing to say would be ‘none taken,’ but you and I both know I take offense selectively from you, Wilde. Any other changes, aside from her bump?”

 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my women small, and Judy is the perfect petite size, but there’s just something about how skinny the whole of her is, and then there’s this growing lump on her belly. It’s like she’s swallowed an ostrich egg.”

 

“Aside from physical appearances.”

 

“I can’t go with the typical ‘weird food cravings,’ because as a bunny, she already likes fish,” Nick pondered. “The ravenous craving for chicken wings is new, but you won’t catch me whining about that either. She also gets really tired easy. That’s also pretty cute. My chubby, tired, ravenous little bunny.”

 

Jack’s shoulders went slack. “Anything else? Maybe mood-wise?”

 

“Well, she has slowly started making a pseudo ‘nest’ out of the bed. Making loose walls around the mattress edge with the blankets, filling the center with pillows, her plushies, and more blankets. Don’t tell Judy, but I called Bonnie to make sure it was normal and Judy hadn’t jumped off the deep end and was suffering a psychotic breakdown. I read all about what can happen to bunnies during a pregnancy, but this kind of thing was skimmed over and I wanted a subject matter expert’s say. Anyway, Bonnie said it’s perfectly normal for a first time mother to want to nest and – ”

 

“Oh my God! Wilde! Are you purposefully being this dense with me?!”

 

“Yes, I am,” Nick’s mouth broke into a wide and taunting smile, “you’re asking if Judy is hornier than usual? Is that what you’re getting at?”

 

Jack looked ready to wring Wilde’s neck. “Why do you _do this to me_?”

 

“Being a fox and all, our kind delights in irritating you bunnies, my dear Jack. And yes, Judy certainly is feeling a little more ‘lovey’ these days,” Nick answered, as if he wasn’t slowly working on eroding Jack’s last nerve. “Kinda love-drunk, if you need further description. She can’t keep her little chin off of me. Or her paws.”

 

Nick met Jack’s stare, paws folding neatly behind his back. “I take it Skye is also ‘feeling herself’ a little more than usual?”

 

Jack readjusted himself in his suit, looking a little more dignified and collected now that he finally had Wilde on the same page. “Yes, I wanted to hear if it was just us. Although, it’s more of a submissive excitement for Skye. She normally loves being the one in control, asserting herself as the fox versus the rabbit, but as of late, it’s more of a ‘cuddly, wrap herself around me like a scarf’ kind of mood. Not that I mind at all, it’s a delight to have a living blanket. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, being a fox and all?”

 

Nick did know a thing or two about curling up around Judy like a blanket, but he’d be damned if he’d voluntarily give up _that_ vulnerable detail of himself with Jack. If he could preserve his masculinity of being a big bad fox, he certainly wouldn’t hand it over to Jack on a silver platter.

 

“It’s not uncommon,” Nick answered. Jack saw through the blatant dodge, and nodded once anyways. It was satisfying enough to know that Wilde pulled the same kind of moves with Judy that Skye was pulling on him.

 

“I thought that the pregnancy would have completely killed her drive,” Jack continued, “but now that we’re into the second trimester, she is certainly ‘feeling herself’ as you put it. At least, more so than normally.”

 

Nick grinned with pride and said, “Well, I always heard the stereotype about you bunnies and your ‘stamina’ and ‘love for large families,’” at which Jack rolled his eyes, “but Judy has been all over me, from the moment I walk in the door to the moment I walk back out the next morning. Poor bunny is starved for attention.”

 

“I know I certainly don’t mind all of the attention I get when I get home,” Jack said through a knowing smile. “Skye has always been so forthcoming in what she wants, but like I said, her affection tends to be more aggressive, forward, possessively predatory. All things I really enjoy. The pregnancy has shifted her more towards – however elegantly did you put it – ‘lovey.’ It’s fun getting to see her act more submissive and sweet. Who would’ve thought pregnancy would have that effect on the girls?”

 

“Who would’ve thought.”

 

~

 

“Have you noticed any changes in Jack?” Judy asked Skye.

 

Skye looked to Judy, and slowly smiled. Playful and coy and smart, like only a fox could. It was exactly the kind of grin Nick flashed her when being clever. Or horny. Or both. Judy suspected Skye worked along the same lines as well. The bunny could swear that even her blue eyes had the exact same calculating glint that her fox’s had.

 

“Changes, you say?” Skye asked, even speaking playful and coy.

 

“Yyyyeah,” Judy shrugged and motioned with both paws, “you know, since you’ve gotten into the second trimester, has Jack been acting differently with you?”

 

“Are you asking because Nick has been ‘acting differently?’”

 

The pair stared at each other for a few quiet moments, and then broke into hushed giggling.

 

“If by that, you mean I can barely get a minute to myself alone!”

 

“Oh my god, I am so glad it’s not just us!” Judy exclaimed. “Normally late summer is when Nick’s libido cools down a little, but this year is definitely not the case. It might as well be early February for how he acts as soon as he gets home.”

 

Skye’s grin widened with each imparted detail.

 

“And oh cheese and crackers, the actual moment I walk into the door! Sniffing! Everywhere, every time he gets back in or if I’m out and he beats me home. He’s all over me! Sniffing my head, my chin, my chest, my belly, my butt, everything! Like he’s expecting something different or some miraculous change or something!”

 

Skye slapped her paws rapidly against her knees, her laughter accompanied by the soft _pat-pat-pat-pat-pat_ of her paws. “You should see Jack! You know how he normally is. Keeps himself cool and collected, not a fan of PDA. At least, he wasn’t until I started swelling up like a balloon.”

 

Judy saw Skye outstretch her paw towards her, knowing what she was talking about. Judy still leaned in and inhaled above Skye’s wrist. Her eyes went wide, and she couldn’t help the snort of laughter.

 

“Oh wow Skye,” Judy chuckled, “I think it’s stained past the fur and into your skin.” Again, both broke into fits of laughter, followed by hard exhales and paws caressing their baby bumps. It was a little alien to laugh and then feel your stomach reflex in response.

 

“I honestly smell more Jack than you right there,” Judy continued. “Never thought Jack would be one to take chinning so seriously and with so much devotion.”

 

“It’s so cute! Whenever we’re out doing something, he does it so subtly, like he thinks no one else in the world will notice.” Skye actually gushed, her smile seeming to bend up on over itself, almost too heavy with glee. “And then of course, when we get home, it’s pretty much like going through the TSA as he goes from head to toe, chinning and examining me.”

 

Judy’s eyebrows bounced up and her smile became as sly as a fox’s. “‘Examining,’ huh?”

 

Skye’s face mirrored the rabbit’s. “Can’t keep his paws off me. You already know how I feel about your species’, uh, ‘drive.’ God. _Damn_ do I love it. But this whole pregnancy thing has also made Jack so much more affectionate. On top of being horny.”

 

“You complaining?”

 

“About getting laid multiple times a day and constant snuggles every other moment he’s home? What on earth is there to complain about? Except, if I’m being petty, the soreness,” Skye returned with a pleased smile. “Do the sniff checks your husband provide go beyond just that?”

 

“I’m telling you, like a frosty February morning, only in September,” Judy beamed with impish eyes. “Hackles raised, pupils thinned, musk producing, hornier than a regular tod. And then afterwards – ” Judy pointed around herself in a circle, “ – like a big foxy blanket. He even growls when I get up to use the bathroom!”

 

“Awww,” Skye said while trying not to laugh, “I think that means he likes you.”

 

“As much as the young buck that keeps chinning you every chance he gets?”

 

“I think I’ll keep him,” Skye said, once again smiling. Although this time, instead of being sly or concealing, her face was as warm and revealing as the sun’s light.

 

“Who would’ve thought pregnancy would have that affect on the guys?” Judy muttered.

 

“Who would’ve thought,” Skye agreed.

 

~

 

8 months later

 

“I swear, this is more exciting than my birthday or Christmas,” Nick said to Jack. The fox’s voice even went up an octave. “I’m counting down the days. I don’t even care if she’s late or early. I am so excited!”

 

Jack stared at Nick. Nick was not acting like how he normally would around Jack. Gone was the hustler and smart-ass detective and clever sergeant. In front of him was the soon-to-be first time father.

 

Jack shared his sentiment. “I will admit,” Jack started as a wide and happy smile pulled his face up, “I haven’t been this excited in quite a while. A small part of me hopes she’s a day or two early.”

 

~

 

“How are you doing?” Judy asked the vixen.

 

“I want them out,” Skye replied in a short tone and with an even shorter exhale. “You?”

 

“Out,” Judy replied, rubbing her stomach. She exhaled through pinched lips and teeth. “I want them out.”

 

9 months later

 

Nick was ~~pretty~~ completely sure that he was going to be sick. Which was incredibly strange, considering that he was also incredibly excited. So excited, in fact, that his fingers were trembling and he kept wringing his paws over and over, trying to smooth out the animations that had taken control of his fingers. It wasn’t working.

 

The buck sitting next to him calmly said, “Inhale, count to five. Exhale, count to five. Repeat.”

 

Nick shook his head. “Can’t. Too nervous. Gah, I’m actually sweating through my pawpads.”

 

“I am aware,” Jack said, nose twitching. He spoke to Nick as if he were a kit, patience in each enunciated syllable. “And it is going to be fine. I know it won’t stop you from sweating through your paws, or through your shirt for that matter, but the doctors said everything is looking to be just fine. Once she really gets along, they’ll send a nurse to bring you in for the special moments.”

 

“Yup, uh-huh,” Nick answered automatically, kinda hearing him but not fully paying attention, fingers still working. He was staring at the wall, and the thousand yard stare he was giving that wall signaled his friend to speak with a little more force and a little more resolve.

 

“You will be a great father,” Jack told Nick. The fox stopped moving completely, still staring at the wall. He opened his mouth to try and say something, to try and make up some familiar, wretchedly tired excuse, when Jack cut him off with the finality of a scythe reaping wheat, killing the old worries before their birth from thoughts into words.

 

“You are going to be nothing like him,” Jack told instead of soothed. “Everything your father was, you will not be. I know it. Skye knows it. And above all else, you and Judy know it.”

 

The following silence let the words find real purchase, let them weave in tight. Nick released a long exhale, put his head in his paws, smoothed out his cheeks. He looked up, looked at Jack, and to everyone’s surprise – including the kangaroo receptionist eavesdropping – the fox leaned over and hugged the rabbit. He was the only fox aside from his wife that Jack would let in so close, let alone close enough to feel the fox’s face pressed into his neck.

 

“How can I thank you for this?” Nick asked.

 

“You can’t,” Jack stated. “I’ve got you on a favor this big? Wilde, you and I are in each other’s pockets for life. There’s no buy-out to be had here.”

 

Nick grinned, and pulling free from their moment, asked again, “Yeah, yeah, but honestly, Jack. There’s nothing?”

 

“Of course there is, Nicholas.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “You be the best father you can possibly be for them. That’s all I ask. Oh look, I’d be willing to guess by that rapidly approaching and smiling nurse that you and Judy are about to become a family.”

 

The nurse came right up to Nick, took his arm, and practically bouncing, the fox was off, leaving Jack to slump a little into his chair. Even if the secondhand excitement that had been pooling off of Nick through his paws was gone, it left behind a contagious buzz in Jack’s head.

 

_So nervous he couldn’t stop rolling over his fingers, couldn’t stay still_. _Just a little overdramatic, Wilde,_ Jack thought. He closed his eyes and tuned out the world, just for a moment, as his fingers began to dance.

 

26 days later

 

Jack’s fingers were moving. His nose was twitching too, but not to scent anything. His ears were folded back, and he was reciting a series of lines in his head to try and settle his stomach. He was up to bat. He had been given the same marching orders Nick had been dealt twenty-six days earlier. Go and sit, it will be a while. We promise we’ll come get you before the big moment, or just listen to the snarling and screaming from your wife. One or the other.

 

Nick sat next to him, staring into his phone with a wide smile. Jack appreciated the gesture. He really did. Both knew Nick wanted to be someplace else, looking and gazing and cooing and longing at the real mammals and not a picture of them. It made complete sense for Judy not to be in the hospital, not with newborns. So it would’ve made sense – Jack would have understood, truly – if Nick had chosen to be home with his family instead of waiting on a hard plastic mold bench, waiting on someone else’s delivery.

 

The fox ever so faintly smelled of rabbit. Many rabbits, many new and one very familiar to Jack. He reckoned that from now on they’d all smell a little differently. Having kits tended to do that to one’s scent, he had read.

 

His fingers stopped their incessant and nervous dance, and Jack realized that it was not due to his dutiful reciting of the mental dialogue meant to guard him from the true effects of torture, but the sight of his friend. Nick was smiling. Really smiling. Honestly smiling. Not his guarded, superior grin he’d worn through most of his life. Smiling so fully, so honestly, that Jack was sure it was even more complete than the one Nick wore when he saw Judy coming to him in her wedding gown.

 

“I can’t wait for you to see them.”

 

“We were just over at your house last week, Nick. Have you-”

 

“I’m not talking about Judy and I’s kits, Jack.” Nicholas grinned at Jack with _that_ smile now, the one that practically defined all foxes of a smug disposition. Jack tried to still his nose and hold Nick’s stare. The trying lasted for six and a half seconds, and then Jack was facing the wall again, nose a spastic wiggle and paws anxiously working. He did not have time to entertain Wilde. His focus would be needed elsewhere.

 

The fox wanted to console his friend. He really did, but it would have the same degree of effect as the inverse from 26 days earlier did. Kinda calming, but more explicitly terrifying because now someone other than the self was confirming that yes, this was really happening. Nick would have to let Jack wade his way through this. He’d be fine.

 

Nick turned to look directly at Jack, then looked over his head, back behind the buck, and damnit if that wide smile didn’t actually grow a little wider. The fox felt a little wave of secondhand adrenaline wash over him, the feeling familiarly welcomed.

 

“Get ready,” he softly told Jack.

 

“For what?”

 

“For the best day of your life.”

 

Jack jumped – and almost squeaked – at feeling a set of hooves grab him by the shoulder and take him from facing Wilde and sitting to facing the delivery room and walking.

 

The Family of Nick and Judy. November, 2018

 

Nick wasn’t sure what the nurse meant when she instructed him to put a swab of Vaseline at the entrances of his nostrils before he entered the delivery room. Upon walking in, he immediately got it. It was solely for the smell.

 

The smell of oncoming birth and a very distressed, anxious, and scared female rabbit. One dripping with nervous sweat.

 

It immediately put Nick into a mild panic, seeing his wife in such a pained, agonized state. He now also understood why one nurse’s sole duty was to hold him in place, secured and away from the bed of the writhing, screaming rabbit and out of the fur of the staff. Mammals could sometimes become ‘protective’ at inopportune times.

 

Nick’s perspective of the birth: Took an eternity, and was over with in a blink.

 

Judy’s perspective of the birth: Took an eternity and was over with after a small eternity.

 

With each kit that came into the world, a nurse whisked it off and out of the room to check on all vitals. The nurses began a line of leaving and reentering the room, one after another, until the physician in charge said, “That was the last one. Great job, Judy. You did great.” Judy weakly gave a thumbs up.

 

Upon release from the aggressive shoulder clamps of his watch, Nick sped over to Judy and began caressing her head, whispering things meant for only the two of them. Judy now had pronounced ebony eclipses under her eyes, and her gaze matched her fatigue. Who would’ve thought birthing a litter could be so exhausting? So Nick took to her comfort; stroking, petting, nuzzling, marking. After a while, Nick was sitting next to her. He never even realized that someone had placed him into a chair.

 

The doctors and nurses came back, arriving in a promenade, wearing amused smiles. The doctor held a large blanket, thick woven and heavy, with pronounced stitching across the edges.

 

“Congratulations,” he told them, handing the bundle to a set of shaking bunny arms. “You are now parents.” The doctor looked both of them – _both,_ including Nick – when he addressed them. If there was malice or disgust, Nick couldn’t catch a glimpse of it. Both he and Judy looked into the swath.

 

Judy’s litter wasn’t a dozen as the ultrasound had promised. It was a baker’s dozen, a lucky thirteen.

 

“All are healthy and there’s nothing to be concerned about,” the nurse told them. “All present and accounted for. Again, congratulations.”

 

The staff left them. Judy wasn’t crying but was making a choked sound, a sob without any tears or agony, just one of complete, utter amazement. Her eyes wouldn’t leave the kits. Beyond beautiful. Almost beyond comprehension. Nick let out a small laugh, so small and quiet and gentle. Just like his kits.

 

Thirteen. Eyes closed, ears flapped over each other. The world’s smallest noses, wiggling with slow irregularity, like flickering lights. So small that two could fit side by side in his paws.

 

It was infinitely more than falling in love all over again. It was infinitely more powerful. Sudden and fast and pure exhilaration, like dropping off the face of the world’s tallest cliff and plummeting and rocketing faster and faster until the new state became the norm and all they were left with were each other and their kits. Incredible did not do the feelings justice, not for Nick or for Judy. The feelings would go beyond words, would transcend the emotions they knew. It was akin to being released from the world’s heaviest tethers, the doubts and fears and angers from them and others having weighed them down for so long. When both Nick and Judy saw their kits, saw their futures in those thirteen infants, all of the anchors that had been keeping them away from their new lives dissolved and evaporated.

 

It was becoming free, like becoming something else.

 

All for this moment, and every moment forward with them as a family. Everything horrible that they had endured had been washed away by such innocence and such beautiful love with such ease. All of their trials instantly became obstacles conquered and defeated. All became well worth their labors, if not for just this first moment of meeting them, of leaning in and inhaling the scent of each and every one of them, of feeling their fur and their warmth, of hearing the small noises of them breathing and sleeping, of memorizing every little detail about all of them. For the both of them, they had made it: they had children of their own that they would raise and love with all of their hearts. They had become more.

 

The Family of Jack and Skye. December, 2018

 

Jack was a pinch more confident than Nick in guessing what the nurse meant when she instructed him to put a swab of Vaseline at the entrances of his nostrils before he entered the delivery room. Upon entering, his suspicions were confirmed. It was solely for the smell.

 

The smell of oncoming birth and a very distressed, anxious, and angry female fox. One flaring with predatory fury at having others encroach on her while she was in the middle of something very important and private.

 

Jack did not have the frantic look of a mate ready to start growling and swinging at the sight of a loved one in distress. More odd for the nursing staff was seeing the buck walk with patient grace up to the snarling, cursing fox to deftly snatch one paw out from the air.

 

He held her paw, looking unafraid of the snarling and snapping mammal he, a bunny, should’ve had all rights to be very afraid of.

 

“Hey buddy,” one nurse asked Jack, “you doing okay there? Your partner has got a stranglehold on your paw.” No one but Jack heard four subtle pops, all in rapid succession.

 

Jack made an oddly measured inhale, sharp and full, then exhaled. “I am completely fine. Please focus on safely birthing our children.”

 

The nurse nodded. It was tough trying to form words when the scent of fresh blood entered his nostrils. The arctic fox had squeezed down on the rabbit’s paw without care or consideration. All of her claws had fully punctured into the meat of his paw, with little crimson beads forming at the points of contact. With each full body spasm from the contractions, the sources of blood swelled and began to run into his fur. Jack was completely undeterred by it and, with his free and not bleeding paw, kept stroking the side of her head, fingers getting dangerously close to a snapping and cursing muzzle.

 

Mercifully, Skye did not bite down on Jack throughout the remainder of the birth. This was the first bit of good news, since the doctor was pulling double duty in not only watching how Skye and the pups were doing, but also seeing if the buck would end up losing his fingers.

 

The second bit of good news was delivered into Skye’s arms after a thorough check-over. Although, ‘good news’ was as inadequate a description for the moment as was calling the sun ‘hot.’

 

Nick, as he would later proudly boast, did not overcharge Jack and Skye in the ideal litter-size department. Twins. Each healthy, one white and one a little darker, a little more russet. Two beautiful girls. Jack had heard them breathing first, and knew before even getting to see them that this was going to be the best day of his life, and that he was already so in love with them he could cry. But he wouldn’t, because he had seen his wife look this exhausted only once in their entire lives. He needed to be strong for them both, needed to show her and everyone else that he would be more than capable of being a strong father.

 

The moment he saw his kits swathed in Skye’s arms, Jack cried and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. He had never seen such beauty, such love, and feeling such a new emotional state was overpowering. Skye seemed to deflate, her body relaxing in such a pronounced way that contrasted against the lights beaming in her eyes and smile. They both witnessed their futures, delivered sleeping and resting after coming into the world. In one moment, all of their trials, the ones that ate away their years with callous gluttony, were made null and void. Those moments of absurd pain and hopelessness had now so easily given way to this. Their futures, the ones at one point thought impossible, lay sleeping in such wondrous and beautiful sleep in their arms. In those two small faces, the fears were gone. Replaced with something beyond joy.

 

It was becoming free, like becoming something else.

 

All for this moment, and every moment forward with them as a family. Everything horrible that they had endured had been washed away by such innocence and such beautiful love with such ease. All of their trials instantly became obstacles conquered and defeated. All became well worth their labors, if not for just this first moment of meeting them, of leaning in and inhaling the scent of each and every one of them, of feeling their fur and their warmth, of hearing the small noises of them breathing and sleeping, of memorizing every little detail about all of them. For the both of them, they had made it: they had children of their own that they would raise and love with all of their hearts. They had become more.

 

~

 

They all had become more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone. Thank you so much for reading this short story turned novella. While writing this idea out, one that has been kicking around in my head for an admittedly long time, I realized something crucial. It is something I feel the need to admit with anyone who has sat down and read this whole ordeal. There is a bigger story here, one that a novella cannot do complete and proper justice, even though I tried to make it such. But, at the risk of letting this ferment too long to the point of it rotting away, I choose to present the idea in the way that it has since been produced. What was originally one chapter, turned into three. It could easily be expanded into a whole multi chapter story. Here we have the conclusion to that story. For now. But, there’s a lot I forwent here, a whole lot. And I need to admit that, if for no reason other than to say that writing this short out has been a learning lesson in more ways than I was anticipating. I am all the better for it. It is one of many hopes that I’ll be able to put the lessons and critiques to use in the near future. 
> 
> As always, a tall thank you to Drummer for his time and efforts to tackle this novella and shape it up to be much more presentable!.
> 
> And as always twice over, thank you all for reading, for commenting, and for giving this oddball piece a chance.


	15. Valentine’s Gift\/From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two small shorts – entirely unrelated and short in length on their own – about getting someone a meaningful valentine's gift and using one’s natural gifts to one’s advantage.

\Valentine’s Gift/

 

The flowers were and were not the same. They were not the same in the color, composition, size, shape, and fragrance. They were the same in that all of them, to varying degrees, looked nice. Appreciative. And therein lay the problem, because Nick Wilde desperately needed to find the ones that stood out, the ones that were noticeably _more_ than the rest. Because those would be the ones that she would love the _most._ So until he risked arriving a moment more than fashionably late, Nick would stay at the likely overpriced and definitely oversized flower shop in the farmer’s market until he found the right flowers to gift Judy Hopps for Valentine’s Day.

 

His frayed nerves had come back down to a more controlled ‘barely frayed’ than they had been an hour ago, when Judy had unceremoniously informed him that she had gotten him a little something for ‘that dumb Howlmark holiday.’ He was stressing because even though they were still in the ‘best friends’ category, the way she said it and the manner in which she delivered it stole his breath and set his heart ticking faster than a metronome at tempo allegro. For both good and bad reasons.

 

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I did wind up getting you something for Valentine’s Day,” she admitted as they walked down the precinct steps. “But it’s really okay if you didn’t get me anything! Honest! I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to give a gift.” When Nick looked back down on her to make sure he had heard correctly, Judy’s ears were flat against her back, and one toe was pivoting against the other. She had a shy and nervous smile on, the one that only rarely came out off duty, and only around him.

 

She was serious, and was now (im)patiently waiting on his response.

 

In an instant and with the grace of practiced composure, the old hustler mask was back on. The fox joked her, kidded her, watched her huff and try to hide that excited, amused smile of hers. He told her not to worry, that he just _may_ have something for her, too. He noted how the lights in her eyes became brighter at hearing that. He told her that he’d meet back with her at the park in one hour, allotting time to change and get ready. And when they had turned to go collect themselves before their evening, the mask slipped off the fox’s face, slicked with stressed panic.

 

Doubly stressing was that Nick, under the assumption that they weren’t going to get each other any material indications of love on this February afternoon, had not picked up anything for Judy. Worse still, and something that Finnick would never let him live down if he knew, was that Nick had nothing tucked away for an emergency such as this. Once upon a time he would have, but those were memories and actions from the Nick whose only forays into relationships were casual hookups. If Finnick ever caught wind of his predicament now, Nick was sure he’d never live it down. Sly fox no more. But that would be an ‘if’ for later. Now, Nick needed a gift. A good gift, and the right gift at that. Failure to produce would absolutely count as a strike he could never brush off the scoreboard. And he’d be damned if he’d let that happen so easily.

 

And so here he was, a stressed fox, looking up at a booth overflowing with flora and becoming increasingly agitated with the lone salesmammal tending shop.

 

“Look,” Nick strained, pointing to the umpteenth iteration of what the shopkeeper called ‘unique.’ “I don’t mean to knock you or your profession – really, I don’t – but that? That looks like you just went into someone’s overgrown field and started pulling weeds.”

 

The older goat sneered, no attempt made at hiding it, and put arrangement number six (not umpteenth) down on the counter. “Look son, you said you want something special and ‘unique’ for your lady friend. I am tryin’ to provide the ‘unique’ part by thinkin’ outside the box here.”

 

Nick glanced again at the collection of what looked like ferns, tree branches, and small white flowers the size of kits’ buttons. That arrangement would be perfect only inside a terrarium or a pet’s cage.

 

Nick exhaled, running his paws through the fur on his muzzle and up and over his head. “Okay, sorry. I’m a little pressed for time, I wasn’t thinking I’d be needing a gift tonight, and unique may have been the wrong word to describe what I’m looking for.”

 

“So what do you think is the right word? So we can speed this up and we both can get on with our evenin’s?”

 

Nick opened his mouth to speak, but the right word became lodged somewhere in his throat, caught somewhere between nerves and confessions. There were too many right words to count when it came to Judy Hopps, and he knew he wasn’t prepared to have a full-blown, almost anonymous confession with the florist about his true feelings for his partner. But he could beat around the bush. They might get to the point that way.

 

Nick glanced around. “Look . . . it’s for someone really special and really close to me, but I’d like it to be more. Not one hundred percent sure if she feels the same way, but I’m willing to take my chances. And I’d settle with flowers that just convey the message that I think the world over about her.” Nick looked up at the shopkeeper, who looked back with a cool, almost unamused expression. Nick guessed that he’d probably heard that spiel a hundred times over today.

 

The shopkeeper bent under his counter and summoned a prearranged bouquet of yellow and white-laced flowers, tubed in shape and staggered on the stem in design.

 

“These are freesia,” the goat started. “Smell like fruits. Most claim to smell strawberries, a few will tell ya blueberries, and others will just make shit up about what they’re smellin’. Point being, they smell sweet and they tend to score well with the vixens. So at the very least your – ”

 

“Bunny.”

 

“ . . . ‘scuse me?”

 

The fox held the goat’s gaze for a moment before answering. “I’m getting something for a bunny, not for a vixen,” Nick admitted, not with any guilt but only with mild trepidation. “And if arrangements can be arranged by a species’ preference, then I will need one for a doe.”

 

Nick recognized the look the goat gave back and braced himself. His innate caution in admitting who the flowers were for had found evidence that maybe it wasn’t the best idea. The goat was older, and the hard look on his face didn’t soften at all. But then again, it hadn’t been soft or appeasing from the moment Nick had approached him. Not that revealing whom Nick was getting the flowers for hadn’t done him any favors. The goat stared at him with that hard, uncaring, old-mammal look that was outright speciesm, boredom, offense, or any mixture of the three. So now, the fox was expecting many hurtful things to start slipping from between those old, whiskered lips. Being an officer, Nick had some legal power, but that required time and effort, two things that would absolutely, positively make him incredibly late for his evening with Judy. If the goat didn’t like his reasoning and decided to stop providing assistance, then Nick would choose whatever option got him a gift the fastest.

 

After a few moments, the goat nodded once, short and exact, and took back the flowers, storing them away back under his counter.

 

_I guess that’s that_ , Nick thought. No time to waste. He turned to start skimming the marketplace for another flower stand, but the sound of leaves and petals rustling together in paper brought him back to facing the goat.

 

The shopkeeper summoned a bouquet of roses, having laid them down on his counter with the elegance of setting down an expensive dining cloth on a dinner table. The look on his face had softened by the smallest degree, and Nick correctly guessed that their business wasn’t through yet.

 

But roses? They had already covered that when Nick had first arrived. “You said earlier that roses were what any shmuck could go out and buy. That roses were for mammals that didn’t have a clue.”

 

“Good to know you were payin’ attention, fox. And yeah, I did say that, because it’s true when it comes from a mammal that doesn’t have a clue.” The goat leaned forward, crossing his arms behind the flowers. “But roses from a mammal that _does_ have a clue? Son, those mean more to a female than this old goat can tell ya.” He slid the bouquet to Nick. “And, I have it on good authority that rabbits ‘specially love ‘em.” He even added the slightest wink to drive the point home.

 

“You’re not just saying that to sell me, are you?”

 

“Son, if I wanted to sell you out on some throwaway piece, it woulda been the first one I’d shown ya. I also wouldn’ta wasted damn near an hour of my time on watching you hem and haw over every damn flower in my shop.”

 

Nick felt the wave of nerves come looming over him again. He had ten, maybe fifteen, minutes to converge back with Judy and not make himself look like an ungrateful ass that came and went as he pleased. At least not on this evening.

 

“Okay, fine, got it, thank you for the advice and thank you for the flowers,” Nick sputtered, pulling out his wallet and fishing for twenties.

 

~

 

With each approaching step, both of their smiles continued to widen. Judy’s smile grew in seeing that one of Nick’s arms was tucked behind his back as he approached, and judging by the incredibly handsome expression painted on his muzzle, she was giddy with anticipation at what he was hiding.

 

Nick’s grin was more along the same lines, with the small exception that he could see the outer-rounded edges of what looked like a giant heart that Judy was trying to hide behind her rather tiny frame.

 

“You know, I’m almost bummed it’s not a giant carrot you’ve got hidden back there,” Nick said.

 

“Harvest Day isn’t until September,” she chided him. “Buuuut, since I am your favorite carrot farmer, I made sure you wouldn’t forget.” With an actual full body pivot to clear the gift from behind to bring it up front, Judy presented Nick with an oversized, cherry red heart-shaped box, complete with a bright pink bow and a few orange carrot stickers smoothed onto its surface.

 

Nick couldn’t help the delighted smile, or the impish laugh. “No way I could ever forget who this came from.”

 

As he took it with his free paw, Judy realized that the fox wouldn’t have any way of opening it, not with his other paw so dutifully snaked around and holding her gift up behind his back. So, she took the liberty of helping him out.

 

“And look what I filled it with!” she exclaimed with genuine pride as she popped up the lid. Nick looked in and saw many uneven dark lumps. He then inhaled, making his stomach growl on reflex.

 

“Chocolate-covered blueberries,” he purred with a delighted smile. This bunny . . . he swore he felt his heart starting to elevate up past its normal spot, felt it starting to tick fast again. Now, for all good reasons.

 

“Home grown on the family farm and coated in milk chocolate by yours truly,” Judy added through a thrilled smile. She was dancing on her toes. Nick felt the pull in his entire body to just drop the flowers, pick her up and nuzzle her right there in the park.

 

“Thank you, Judy. I can’t wait to binge eat them all in one sitting.” Another delighted grin and small giggle. Gods, he could just live for those alone.

 

“Soooo.” Judy rocked on her heels, biting her bottom lip. “Whatcha got behind your back there, Slick?”

 

His belly did a small flip. Showtime. Nick pulled his arm forward and presented her the bouquet.

 

His stomach didn’t do a flip at seeing her blank expression. It sunk at seeing the blank look last for more than one whole second. Sunk right into his ass around second number two. Threaten to rip out of his body by second three.

 

And then slowly rose back up at second number four, back to where it was supposed to be in his body, and kept rising until it evaporated into pure bliss in his chest as her face slowly came to life with wide-eyed jubilation. Nick almost barked out the breath he had been holding in sweet relief at hearing her squeal and seeing her fists ball up near her face and shake.

 

Her voice dropped into a shocked whisper. “You – you got me roses?” She reached for them with the purposeful tenderness of reaching for a newborn kit. Nick felt like he could break out into dance at hearing the clear tone of bewildered affection. The urge to dance in joy evaporated as she tackled him in a full embrace.

 

Even in the cold, she did not feel warm. She felt red-hot, almost glowing. And he was sure he could feel her smiling from ear to ear in the crook of his neck.

 

_Alright, even if he was a grouch, that old goat has officially earned my business for life,_ the fox thought through a cloud of pure delight.

 

She slowly pulled back, now wearing a happy and sheepish grin, keeping one paw on his chest. Before her ears fell back, Nick noted their inner cherry red coloring. And, of course, the euphoric scent that enveloped her.

 

“Happy Howlmark holiday, Judy.”

 

She grinned, punched him in the shoulder (with surprising strength), and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Nick.”

 

Judy turned, looping his arm with hers, and started walking with him. Nick imagined it must’ve been like tugging along a cloud since he felt light as air. “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty crazy,” she said, her voice bringing him back down to the earth.

 

_Crazy that I think you are perfect in every way? Crazy that you make me feel lighter than fucking air? Crazy that this has pretty much affirmed this isn’t a one-way road between us? Crazy that I constantly imagine you naked? That kinda crazy?_

“What’s crazy?”

 

“Out of all the Valentine’s Day gifts out there,” she pulled away and, standing a space in front of him, plucked a single rose from the bushel, “we both got each other edible gifts!”

 

Nick smiled. “What were the odds of that ever wait-wait-wait . . . ” Nick stopped smiling. “ . . . What did you just say? Did you just say we both got each other – ”

 

The words ‘edible gifts’ vanished off Nick’s tongue, as did the entire bulb of the rose as it disappeared into Judy’s open mouth. The rest of the words Nick was going to say, as well as his train of thought, stopped, derailed, and crashed at watching and hearing Judy’s moans of appreciation as she started rapidly chewing on the rose petals.

 

“Mmmm! Oh My Gosh! It has been _for-ever_ since I’ve had a rose this fresh! It’s so friggin’ good!” Judy actually stood up on her tip toes, her fists balling with joy around the stem and bouquet base, almost pulling the flowers in for a hug of their own. She had the look of excited guilt. “Normally I try to refrain from eating too many of these because, well, you know what they say about sweets and flowers – ”

 

Nick did not.

 

“ – Buuut! Since these came from you, how could I possibly say no? I’m gonna eat all of them! Where on earth did you manage to find roses this fresh, Nick!? You’ve normally got to special order actual, non-frozen, fresh flowers into the city.” Judy proceeded to start nibbling at the ever-shortening stalk, speaking again when the stem vanished into her mouth. She winked at him, grinning like she was privy to his secrets. “Still have some hustling irons in the fire I see.”

 

Judy gazed at her friend with incredulous wonder and delight. Nick stared back like discovering that all of his furniture had been soundlessly arranged into an impossibly neat pyramid in under a second behind his back. Eyes comically wide, mouth in a thin line, ears pinned back, tail having given up and resigned to laying flat on the ground, and mind trying to process an unexpected outcome.

 

Crunch-crunch-crunch. Munch-munch-munch. He was utterly fixed on her consumption. Judy seemed unaware of Nick’s shock, or at least uncaring, and with stuffed cheeks, kept to the task of enjoying her flowers, buzzing and humming with delight between the almost fevered pace of her chewing. Nick tried to compose himself.

 

_I thought they’d go in a vase._

_I thought she’d sniff them and ogle their color or whatever._

_I thought they’d show you how much I care._

“You’re eating them . . . ” he muttered in complete exasperation.

 

Crunch-crunch. “Mmm-hmm!” Judy affirmed. Munch-munch.

 

“Uhm . . . ”

 

His bunny was still undeterred and kept eating, the lengths of the roses quickly vanishing into her mouth. Crunch-crunch-crunch. “Yes, Nick?” Munch-munch-munch. He was going to ask why she was eating a floral arrangement - things he thought mammals didn’t eat – and the thought struck him.

 

_I have it on good authority that rabbits ‘specially love ‘em_. Even as it processed, even as it made a painfully obvious amount of sense, Nick grinned. The feeling of being hustled continued to fade at seeing how incredibly excited his bunny was and remembering just how ecstatic she had been to receive the flowers. Even if they weren’t put to use in the traditional sense, it only mattered if she actually liked them, if they meant something. At the rate she was eating one after another, the delight in her eyes constant and unfading, Nick knew that these did mean something. And the ridiculously chubby cheeks made his own smile pull wider.

 

At seeing the smile on his impossibly handsome face, Judy smiled back in full. “Thank you, Nick. These are so lovely! You are just the best, you know that?”

 

“I’m glad that you like them. And yes, I do know that. Please be sure to say that to me at least once every day.”

 

Judy winked, looped her arm through his, and resumed walking, chatting, and feeding a rose bulb into her mouth. Nick cracked open the heart-shaped box (that he might never toss away – the carrot stickers were disarmingly endearing) and tossed a handful of homemade chocolate-covered blueberries into his mouth.

 

\From Above/

 

This part always felt right by design, if not by order. It felt right for them both, along the same wavelength but on opposite ends of the spectrum. For Nick, it was like the very beginning of the hunt, at coming to the sudden realization that very soon the game would be afoot. For Judy, it was the same caliber of tense anticipation; knowing that at any moment, the hunt would begin and she would be breathing and exhaling pure adrenaline.

 

The way they rationalized it, the anticipation put their minds in the right state of hyper awareness. And being officers of the law, no one would ever argue that that was a bad thing.

 

The pair looked at their suspect, a mole by the name of Michael Cordone, found near his favorite coffee shop in Tundratown. Making eye contact with him, both felt the strain and stress transition from him to them, starting to fuel the preparation of an incoming adrenaline wave. The mole looked a few short breaths away from bolting. And they had just gotten past pleasantries. In all fairness, the look of nausea that was painted down the mole’s face only appeared when he noticed that one of the officers was a fox. Both officers understood that. Sometimes, the survival instinct at seeing one’s oldest mammalian predator was impossible to work around. Sometimes, in cases like this, Nick and Judy found that hang-up could work to their procedural advantage.

 

“Mr. Cordone,” Nick said with almost inappropriate lackadaisical ease. “You look nervous to see us. Are you nervous?” The fox made sure to smile, wiggle his nose, flick both ears forward. Put his best fox forward.

 

The message was received in the rodent actually leaning back. The mole’s face pinched, his tiny fists balled. He swallowed. “No. No, I am not nervous.”

 

“He looks kinda nervous,” Judy mused in an innocent tone.

 

“I’m kinda wondering what you two want,” the mole huffed.

 

“Following up on that break-in into your late Nana’s house, that’s all,” Nick admitted.

 

The mole exhaled, not at all relaxing but pulling himself a little more together. “You found who the hell broke into her house? That what this is about?”

 

“Yes, we did,” Judy replied. “Two teenagers. We found them knocking holes in the insulation, looking for copper to strip from the wires.”

 

Michael sunk his face into his paws, moaning in frustration. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me . . . Thieves putting holes in Nana’s walls? For fuck’s sake, insurance ain’t gonna cover that.”

 

“Yeah, tough break there, Mike,” Nick responded, reaching into his back pocket. The twinge of excitement in his gut flexed. That was all true, but that was not the centerpiece of their talk. Now was where the real conversation began. “But, on the topic of catching those kits breaking and entering, there is something we were hoping you’d be able to help us with.”

 

Judy suppressed the grin. Moment of truth coming up. The mole’s face became too neutral, out of place. “Aside from the fact that mammals were breaking into my Nana’s old place, God rest her soul?”

 

Nick nodded, then pulled out a photograph of a small cloth bag. It was the kind used to store rings and small jewelry. Both fox and bunny figured that the bag, and the photograph of it, was approximately the same size as the rodent.

 

“This was found in the house as well. Not the photo, the thing in the photo.” Nick handed the picture to Michael, who leaned ever so slightly back to hold the picture steady, like using his weight to counterbalance against holding a large painting.

 

“So?”

 

“You know what was in that bag?”

 

“No?”

 

“Diamonds,” Judy filled in. “A dozen diamonds, actually.”

 

Now, here would be the part where any other mammal’s face would have lit up like the fourth of July. Thrilled and amazed to learn that they had valuable gems in their home. Or just in amazement. The shrew’s face remained unchanged.

 

“So they’re mine.” Michael implied.

 

“Under normal circumstance, sure,” Nick admitted. “But here’s the thing. We at the ZPD have also been investigating a jewelry store heist that occurred two days ago. Remember it? Managed to make the front page?”

 

“And among the contraband that the mammals made off with?” Judy offered. “They took uncut diamonds. Unpolished, still containing impurities, not set in metal. The exact same kind that jewelers work with. Not the kind mammal’s keep lying around their homes.”

 

“And?” One single eyelid on the mole twitched. Quick and gone.

 

“And do we really need to spell out our cause for concern?” Nick asked, purposefully grinning with too wide a smile, displaying too sharp-looking teeth. “The diamonds found at your property are looking a match, Mike.”

 

“Don’t know nothin’ about em,” he told the pair. “And before you start insinuating that they somehow came into my possession, didn’t you say you caught two delinquents breaking and entering? Maybe they dropped them while fucking up my property.”

 

“Maybe,” Judy conceded. “Still raises eyebrows though. Now, admittedly there is the issue of identification and ownership for the diamonds, because we have taken them in as evidence and now we need to verify if they are indeed the ones stolen in the heist and not just your Nana’s – ”

 

The mole put both paws up, letting the picture drift all of two inches to the ground. He had enough. “Stop. I need to stop you right there, Officers. I know speculation when I hear it. So far, I’m hearing a whole lot of ‘if’s’, meaning that you don’t really have any probable cause. Because if you did, you woulda just thrown me in the back of your car and we’d be having this conversation in a concrete box. And we’re not there. We’re here, having this conversation out of the goodness of my heart. So if you don’t have cause, than what in the fuck are you doing taking those diamonds outta my house?”

 

Nick and Judy met his gaze and kept quiet. The springs inside them wound a little tighter.

 

Michael Cordone continued, taking the silence as a point scored in his favor. “Oh, that’s just great! You go from wanting to play twenty questions to not having an answer when it’s my turn to ask? Seems to me that you two shouldn’t have taken those from my property. Far as I’m concerned, they were in that house, which is deeded to me. Meaning, since you two dipshits need _me_ to spell this all out, they belong to me. You have nothing under probable cause, just circumstance.

 

“Now,” the mole leaned towards them, smiling and just barely shaking, “be good wannabe detectives and put those diamonds back in the wall where you found ‘em!”

 

Michael Cordone was right. They didn’t have enough probable cause to bring him in right then and there. It would have been a series of coincidences, too many and with Michael Cordone not having any direct evidence linking all the pieces. Both suspected that Michael would have also called his lawyer to meet them at the precinct on the way in. And neither wanted to give him the opportunity to get ahead of them on this. Both officers, like good ‘wannabe’ detectives, had tried to just talk, to see how that strategy would play out.

 

It had played out with very promising results.

 

“While we didn’t have enough probable cause to bring you in for some Q&A then, we have enough now,” Judy said, the good humor vanishing from her voice. The mole took a small step back. He didn’t even get to ask ‘why’ before that question was answered by the fox, once again wearing that awful, terrifying, toothy grin.

 

“Because not once did we mention _where_ the diamonds were found, Mike.”

 

Their world became isolated and quiet. Cordone’s shoulders went slack and the whites of his eyes became visible.

 

“In the walls, you said? Not in a desk or safe? How on Earth did you know that?” Nick whispered. “Care to answer that question for me?”

 

The mole was there, and the next moment he was not, already sprinting away as fast as four legs could carry a mammal his size. Which was surprisingly fast. The springs inside both Nick and Judy snapped. The bubbling excitement that had been building at their suspicions of the mammal’s flighty nature and intention had been confirmed. Even if it wasn’t the desired outcome as far as procedural protocol was concerned, it had the _right_ kind of exhilarant feeling for them both. The game was afoot. The chase was on. And the chase had such a sweetly guilty feeling to it, a _right_ kind of feeling to it.

 

They sped after their target, Judy yelling into her radio that they were pursuing a fleeing suspect, Nick feeling a pleasant ping of predatory joy in enjoying the current turn of events. The sweet, electric feeling of predation thrummed through his body, crashing against the backs of his eyes. Judy focused on the jittery blur that was their runner. The adrenaline flowed, years of practice and action supplying her body the power to keep pace. Their world began to blur by in a rolling screen of minute details. All else except pursuit became secondary.

 

Rounding a corner, their chase and excitement came to a sudden, anticlimactic pause. Both officers almost skidded to a halt at a crossing with several branching pathways. A quick glance up each in rapid success revealed no parting of crowds, no tiny grey blurb speeding away.

 

Judy heard it first, her attuned sense of hearing catching the unbecoming noise. It sounded like scratching, but was far more gentle. Less harsh. Scuttling . . . or moving? Ears pivoting forward, Judy began to slowly step forward towards the widest cut of the intersection, where the cobblestone ended and the snowfield began.

 

It was either a park or a sports field modified from a park. The same kind of property where she had observed a certain pair of foxes making pawpsicles once upon a time. Whichever this parcel once was or was now, it was covered in almost a foot of fresh snow, climate-controlled biospheres to thank for that. And the subdued scratching became a fraction of a decibel louder as she neared the white ground.

 

Nick came up behind her, not saying a word. Both of his ears were also perked and rotating, swiveling in small radii towards the field along with Judy.

 

“You hear it, too?” she whispered.

 

“That kinda scratching, kinda not scratching that has the fur on my tail standing on end? Yeah.”

 

Judy, standing on tiptoes to get at least a head over eyelevel on the snow, felt the gears in her mind come loose and start spinning as the sound registered.

 

“No way.”

 

She bent down on her knees, looking at the cutaway face of the snow where it had been shoveled, and saw the loosely circular burrow. Pressing an ear to the entrance, she could actually hear that bastard mole’s labored breathing as he dug away from them.

 

“Nick, Cordone is burrowing through the snow.” Judy looked up to Nick, and for a fleeting moment, felt her breath vanish. His face was set in an incredibly odd (and also very attractive) juxtaposed mask of predatory focus and hyper vigilance. It was in the same ranking as the mask he wore when pretending to go savage, minus the bared teeth. In that moment, Judy caught herself thinking just how . . . _good_ Nick looked in such a state. But charming her with his predatory features was not the point, as Nick didn’t even seem to register that she had spoken. His fingers were rolling, and Judy eyed the claws that, while impossible, seemed a little longer and a little sharper than normal.

 

In her own private way, she understood the terrifying awe that Michael Cordone felt when looking at the fox. Unlike the mole, she appreciated the fox’s countenance and the multitude of effects it had on her mind, body, and spirit.

 

“I’m going after him,” Nick growled.

 

“With what? Snow’s a little high, we’re not that tall, and we didn’t bring a shovel,” she argued.

 

“Won’t need that,” he told her, standing to face the snowy field like an adversary at a wrestling match. “Even though I prefer a warm day and a cold beer to this, the snow never really bothered me.”

 

Before she could further argue his irrelevant point or work out a plan to catch the mole, the fox was walking/bouncing on two feet across the snow after their runner. Judy stood still, calculating. It was a start. The freezing climate would actually play to their advantage. Years of constantly and consistently freezing temperatures in the district meant that the ground beneath the snow had long transitioned from warm, pliable earth to solid, unmoving concrete. Down was out of the question, even for a rodent. So it was across, keeping him in the foot or so of snow. He’d have to come out somewhere. Judy, now muttering a string of colorfully choice words at seeing their handle on the situation continue to slip, began running to the other side of the plot in the hopes of cutting off Cordone.

 

The roaring excitement of the pursuit changed for the fox, like dialing the sound dial from 11 to a 4. Still there, in the background, but an urgency had taken over his mind and body. His pace in the snow slowed until he was just walking, and then pacing. It finally reached the slow, purposeful gate of stalking.

 

Nick stared into the solid, white sheet of snow, ears cocked forward and pivoting. The complete lack of sight was unnerving. Knowing that Cordone would stick to the sweet spot just above the frozen earth and at the deepest point of snow to minimize his visual profile wasn’t great. Nick was unaware that his tail had puffed out to a dust sweeper’s diameter and was leveled above the snow, running straight from his body. He was aware that what once was excitement at getting to go bring someone in had changed into a mild panic that they had spooked a member of the populace that was one of the hardest to track.

 

And yet . . .

 

It was the same caliber of feeling they had during their questioning. Nick still felt the familiar yet somehow old feeling of _right_. No . . . that wasn’t completely true. He felt mostly right. The dial was on the right channel, but tuning was needed. Nick needed to move, to fine tune his position. He sidestepped, tentatively moving forward and keeping his arms out to balance out his torso along with his tail.

 

Something intrinsic and without words told him to STOP. Nick froze, unable to look away from the ground. Behind his mind’s eye, a word was etched. BENEATH.

 

Beneath? Beneath what? The snow? The mole, Michael Cordone, was beneath the snow? Well yeah, he knew that. Where else would the mole be? He had to be somewhere beneath the snow. Nick heard that faint scratching sound coming up from beneath the frost and snow. The feeling telling him that he was in the Right ebbed away. Cordone was moving. And the fox could sense him. He needed to find him. Nick took a step to the left, then another, then WRONG. The word even had a palpable acidity to it. Noted. Nick moved four slow steps over to his right, still looking into indistinguishable white.

 

Felt . . . better, but not quite there. Not quite Right. More fine-tuning needed.

 

Another step forward. The rest of the world was droned out by the sound of something just ahead of him, the sounds of something deep in the snow and the steady pacing of his own heart. Better. In whatever way his positioning mattered, this direction was getting Better. His shoulders rolled back, and his arms tucked up to his sides, paws facing forward.

 

Closer. Still not Right, still not quite Right . . . Nick moved half a step to the right and forward.

 

Nick stopped. The message came in waves, three in rapid succession, each three times stronger than the last.

 

beneath. Beneath. BENEATH.

 

Nick hunched down, felt the physical and electrical charge building in his legs. His eyes widened. The smile split from ear to ear. In such simple terms, he got it. The mole was beneath the snow. That was known. But now? Right now, the mole was directly beneath him.

 

It felt so Right. As did the command that flooded his mind.

 

DIVE

 

Judy had been watching her partner’s peculiar behavior from her new position, mesmerized by the careful, exact movements he was making in the field. Even if she wouldn’t admit it to him, watching what had to be predatory stalking wasn’t a uniquely terrifying thing to witness. It had . . . a deliciously exciting appeal that did very exciting things to her.

 

Her observing and daydreaming (and what she’d later call ‘providing assistance’) was interrupted at seeing Nick go from a crouch to being airborne, jumping higher than his own standing height. A feat she had been sure only rabbits were capable of. She watched with mouth open wide as Nick curled at the top of the arc into an inverted U, and dove straight down into the snow.

 

That action was more confusing and obscure and less sexy and intriguing.

 

It took watching his rear and tail wiggling around in the air for Judy to snap out of her bewilderment and trudge out into the snow to him. Nick had either (somehow) caught their mole in his bizarre attempt at arrest or he was about to be plastered on the front pages and bestowed with quips about how the ZPD was shooting its prestige in the foot with some of their recent ‘diversity hires.’

 

Judy got to Nick, and just as she put her paws awkwardly out, thinking of the least invasive way to grab the fox and pull him free from the snow like a dart wedged in the board, Nick planted both feet down and pulled up, showering her in a small squall of frozen crystalline.

 

“Ha HA! Got You!” she heard Nick yell.

 

When the flurry cleared, she was facing an ecstatic-looking Nick, smiling like a lunatic, and a terrified mole, firmly wedged in the fox’s paws and looking like he was going to start wailing uncontrollably or take one large breath and pass out. Being plucked from a safe place from an actual predator of your kind probably had a horrifying effect on the psyche.

 

“OhmyGod,” she spat out in one word. “You caught him! You – you high-dived and caught him!”

 

Nick turned to her with a manic and proud and insanely toothy smile. “I know!” He even sounded a little amazed with himself.

 

There, Michael Cordone noticed his salvation in the form of a grey mammal that lacked teeth and a carnivorous diet. “Oh thank God! Officer bunny! Get me away from this lunatic!”

 

“Officer Wilde? A lunatic? You’re just saying that because he’s the one that brought you down and now you’re being a sore loser about it,” Judy said.

 

Michael did not like that answer. “No I’m not!! Are you seeing this shit?! He looks ready to eat me! He even went for me in the snow with his teeth first!!” All the while, the mole struggled against strength that was impossible for him to even come close to matching. Nick kept a firm and assured hold on the mammal in his paws. He was making a point to smile wide for his suspect. “Please! Oh God Oh God, get me away from him! I don’t care if you bring me back to the station locked in a fuckin’ briefcase, I just don’t wanna be left alone with him!”

 

Judy made a mental note at how funny that comment was. Michael Cordone was in the category of mammals too small for pawcuffs. He’d either have to be carried by paw or toted in a small carrying cage. When given the option, Michael gladly took the cage. Even if plenty of rodents took great personal offense to that holding method, Cordone seemed pretty ok with the arrangement.

 

At the precinct, after placing Cordone in holding and taking a minute to catch their breath and swig coffee, Judy popped the question that she made sure would only grace Nick’s ears.

 

“Hey, so back in the snow,” she started, hoping that her question wouldn’t be met with offense and would be answered without any puns, redirects, or half answers, “did you really try to get at him with your, uhm, teeth?”

 

“What?” Nick asked back, face in amazement. He actually seemed proud that Judy had asked. “Nah. He’s definitely saying that because I came at him headfirst. Which to him, in his situation translated as teethfirst. But truly, no, I did not try to extradite him from the snow with my teeth. Pain in the butt it was getting my paws down through that snow to Cordone.”

 

The pair took their coffees and started toward the interrogation room. Judy noticed the subtle, sly grin on her partner. She believed him and took the fox’s words to heart, she did, but she also wanted to hear the endnote on that particular thought. “But . . . ” she prompted.

 

The fox’s grin split open into a delinquent smile, with mischievous cunning in his eyes. “But, I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated valentine's day! The idea happened just after it was over, and From Above happened after reading a publication on fox's use of magnetic north to hunt prey submerged deep in snow. Had to dedicate at least one story of that incredible talent. As always, thanks to Drummer for proofing these two!


	16. Gender Bender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jude Hopps is a newly minted police officer in the city of Zootopia. He is just getting the hang of being both a rookie cop and the first bunny cop. Both are shaping up to be a challenge, and he can do without any others. Including, and especially, a vixen with razor-sharp emeralds for eyes who sways into his path (perhaps on purpose).
> 
> Or: Where a different Hopps meets a different Wilde under different circumstances. With varied results.

The rabbit heard her voice from across the street. “Oh God oh no no noooo c’mon it’s gotta be here somewhere . . . ” He saw a vixen, one that was panicked, paws smoothing over the fur on her face while she anxiously scanned the ground and walked in tight, helter-skelter circles.

 

The fox heard the footsteps of something light, something crossing the street and beelining towards her. She looked up to see a male bunny, caution and interest in his face, ears facing forward. She saw his nose twitch.

 

“Excuse me, Miss? Is everything alright?” He didn’t sound offended, didn’t look bothered or annoyed. Didn’t even sound inconvenienced. Being a bunny and she being a fox, he was likely just nervous.

 

The vixen motioned frantically to the sidewalk. Her eyes were wide and sentences terse. “My necklace. I can’t find it! I just felt it a few minutes ago. It has to be here. It has to!” She continued looking while a mystified rabbit stood motionless, looking a little unsure of how to proceed. “My boyfriend got it for me and oh god he saved up for a whole year to buy it. Please, it’s a gold chain with a small diamond at the center. I can’t tell him that I lost it! It’s gotta be lying on the ground somewhere.”

 

The rabbit began scanning back and forth over the concrete walkways while taking a chance to get a good look at her. Female fox, young, pretty, and moving with an almost out of place elegance as she frantically glanced over the sidewalk. Dressed in a green blouse that would have been hideous on any other mammal with a khaki skirt and a red sash belt tying both top and bottom articles together. The rabbit forced his eyes back to the ground, focusing his vision to hone in on any bright and glinting things. “Where exactly have you walked?” he asked without looking up.

 

He heard, “Around this block. I was looking for this one coffee shop – ”

 

– Hey! He actually knew that one! Likely that small standing room-only boutique that was _across_ the street, _Crema_ –

 

“ – and as I circle this block, chasing my own tail like it’s not attached to me, I went to go feel for it and - and damn it all, I lost it! I’m sure it’s here somewhere. I can’t believe this.” The strain and stress were beginning to show, and beginning to wear too. The vixen was making habit to smooth down the fur across her head, fingers pressing down and claws dragging uncomfortably close to skin. She looked one more inhale away from breaking down into tears.

 

“We’ll find it,” the rabbit reassured. “I’m going to head to the corner of 147th and Huntington Avenue here and loop around. You go back to 148th and we’ll meet up on the other side of the block. One of us is bound to stumble over it.” The fox murmured several enthusiastic and nervous equivalents of ‘yes’ and the two of them split in their search.

 

Off-duty police officer Jude Hopps kept his eyes to the ground as he walked. Wrappers, unidentifiable scraps, dirt, the occasional leaf and plenty of cigarette butts. Nothing golden or silver. Nothing glinting in the sun. No matter. He’d comb every inch of the block for it. And if nothing turned up, he’d retrace the vixen’s path with her until something turned up. Wasn’t like he had plans this evening.

 

It was approaching four in the afternoon. The schools had long been let out and rush hour would start soon. If there’d be an ideal time to stumble over it, he was currently using that window of opportunity. Up ahead, he heard a female voice, not the vixen whose jewelry search party he had voluntarily joined, but one with a deeper octave. Borderline masculine to the point where Jude wondered if he had misidentified the sex.

 

Jude heard, “Well, I’ll be damned. I think that’s a real rock in there.”

 

Jude looked up to a fox smaller than himself and with bigger ears. This smaller fox (were they called fennec foxes? That sounded right, but he wouldn’t chance it) was examining a thin band of reflective gold draped in her paws, looking at a concentrated middle on the band.

 

“Excuse me? Did you happen to find that here on this street?”

 

The fox looked up, and Jude recognized the face of someone not at all interested in cooperating. “So what if I did?”

 

Jude kept an even face. _Okay. So that’s how it’s going to be._

 

“Someone lost a necklace just like that. Would you be willing to take a walk with me back to her and – ”

 

“And what? Hand jewelry over to the first mammal smart enough to know free valuables when they see them?” the fennec asked. “Any mammal’s gonna take one look at this and immediately say ‘oh yes! That _IS_ my necklace!” She even pantomimed swaying arms and an unnatural, higher pitched voice for effect.

 

Jude knew where this doomed conversation was headed, but damnit if he wouldn’t try to salvage it. “Look, I know how it sounds, but I am an officer,” he summoned his wallet and produced his badge, which the fennec regarded without much interest, “and I was just speaking with a young vixen describing how she lost a necklace,” he pointed to the band of gold in the fennec’s paws, “just like that one.”

 

The fennec rolled her eyes. Her voice gained a sharper edge, the girlier tone entirely abandoned. “Yeah, I’m sure. She and every other scheming red fox in this city. Always keepin’ their eyes peeled for free jewelry. Even employing locals to cover more ground. Look, bunny boy – ”

 

(Jude was going to choose to let that slide)

 

“ – I found it on the ground, so it’s free rein, so I ain’t just givin’ it away. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go pawn it off. Get some real mileage outta my lucky find.”

 

Jude saw the vixen in his mind, fingers stitching themselves through the shallow fur on her face, eyes wide with panic and ready to burst into frantic tears. Sighing, Jude reached for his back pocket and summoned his wallet.

 

“How much you want for it?”

 

The fennec’s eyebrows went up, but his face remained unchanged. “You’re gonna buy this off me?”

 

“For whatever it’s worth to the fox currently pulling her fur out as she walks around this block looking for it,” Jude replied, fishing out the stack of emergency money he kept on him. One hundred even. All twenties, all of his emergency cash he kept on paw. One note had an obnoxious coffee stain smeared across the portrait. He doubted it would cut the value.

 

“You tellin’ me this necklace is worth only a hundred bucks?”

 

“It looked worth it to her,” Jude answered. “And that’s all I have on me. Take it or leave it.”

 

The fennec gave him a look Jude couldn’t place, and then put out both of her paws. One open and empty, the other open and strewn with gold. They made their exchange.

 

Jude thanked her, and the fennec left without further discussion. Jude resumed walking the intended path, deciding to meet up with the vixen on the next street on the block, Great Plains Boulevard. He arrived and looked down the street towards the intersection on 148th. No red fox in sight. Jude headed towards that corner. He’d see her on the street they’d met on then, on 148th or on the next right turn at Huntington. Jude arrived on 148th, saw no vixen, and kept walking, keeping his eyes peeled on this street and the one across the road.

 

Jude looked down Huntington, down to the intersection at 147th. No fox.

 

He circled the block once. No fox. No fennec either.

 

Circled the block twice. Nothing but an awful feeling in his stomach. On the third loop, he relinquished to the sinking pit in his gut. Something sickly and miserable wrapped itself around his being. Jude sighed, put his face into his paw, counted backwards from fifty, and resumed his day. Now a hundred dollars lighter. Now feeling not at all a streetworthy police officer, let alone one who had just gotten out of a ten-month stint of meter maid duty.

 

A neon sign hanging from building brick caught Jude’s attention. It spelled in flashing red lettering PAWN. Another smaller sign beneath it spelled out O-P-E-N. Jude looked at the metal still wrapped in his paw, walked to the door, and entered.

 

~

 

Jude Hopps decided, the moment he sat down at the first shit dive-bar he found that evening, that this day would not be spoken about. To anyone. It would be relegated to a humiliating memory and nothing more. No physical evidence of today aside from the pity tab he was about to accrue would exist. He had no problem telling white lies to his parents, but this would extend beyond that. This day and its events weren’t going to anyone. Not to his parents, not to any of his brothers or sisters, and not to a single working official at the ZPD. _Especially_ not Clawhauser.

 

Jude would not take any action against the foxes. If he were to go after them, it would mean two things: 1, they would receive minor sentencing as conning at this level wasn’t federal and no judge would give a serious shit enough to make the sentencing meaningful. But more importantly, at 2, it would mean having to admit that he had been so easily swindled. Hook, line, and sinker. Had the wool pulled down over his eyes.

 

His reputation, both pride and career, would be dead in the water. The teasing wouldn’t be merciless; it would become a career constant alongside first bunny cop. First bunny cop he could take, that alone would not torpedo his plan to move up the hierarchy to where he wanted to go. His career could not take being the go-to joke for Precinct One, not that he’d have much of a career after this. Getting swindled so easily, like a tourist on their first trip to the big city? He might as well throw out the dream of making detective within a decade with that hanging over his head. Forget moving up into special divisions after that. He feared that if the Chief ever found out about this, it would be right back to meter duty. Probably for the next year, at the very least. Or maybe just forever.

 

He was finally a police officer, and had his sights set on making detective much sooner rather than later. He was doing good work, work that was showing he was more capable than half of his peers. And that work would take him where he needed to be.

 

This stumble was not great, was not good, was not iffy. It was bad, like set-back bad. Nothing illegal done on his part, nothing they could kick him out for or even put on a record necessarily. But they had so easily stapled that ugly orange meter maid vest to his body for just being a bunny. And that lasted damn near a year. The thoughts of what they could swing with this as ammunition made sweat run down his back and under his fur. So Jude was going to let it lie. Let the embarrassment stay locked away in one more cell in his mind where it and it alone could taunt him. He could at least handle that.

 

Jude swallowed another mouthful of beer, read the wooden sign hanging on the wall, positioned squarely between Jack and Johnny Walker.

 

A FOOL AND HIS MONEY ARE SOON PARTED.

 

He snorted, felt the humiliation roll over him like an old, embarrassing memory. Replace ‘fool’ with ‘Jude Hopps’ and presto-chango. No difference.

 

He heard the door creak and swing open. Jude looked, and considered drinking until he drowned himself. Because of course the mammal making confident strides through this hole-in-the-wall would be the same vixen who had conned him out of his emergency money. And not the short one. The pretty one, the red fox, flashing sharp eyes and a sharper smile. Because of course that’s how the universe was repaying his inclination to do a good deed.

 

The universe also saw fit to guide the fox right to Jude. She looked right at him, smiled, and started beelining towards him. He could feel the razor-sharp stab of her grin inching further and further into his back with each step forward. She took the empty seat to his left.

 

Her voice was entirely devoid of any panic or strain now. “Well look at that! Small world running into a familiar face here.”

 

“Yeah,” Jude managed, “how about that. Twice in one day.”

 

She gave the room a faux once-over, quick and unnecessary aside from her evident love of showmanship. “You know, I’m normally pretty good with locales, but I never once pegged this watering hole for a cop bar.”

 

Jude tried suppressing the groan, but the drinks greased the locks on his lips and she heard.

 

“Yeah,” the fox drawled on as if oblivious, “if that impresses you, you’d be delighted to know that fennecs are the same way. We foxes have an eye for detail.”

 

_The fennec,_ Jude thought. _The fennec saw my badge when I pulled out my wallet to pay out and was kind enough to relay it to her. Great._

 

The vixen gave Jude a cool glance as the seconds ticked by. He said nothing else and made no move to do anything else. “You gonna buy me a drink?” she asked.

 

“I would, but I’m all out of cash,” Jude said, taking another sip – the last sip, thank God – of his beer. “And now all out of beer. Excuse me.” He made to get up, but stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck went on end at coming face to face with a thin, orange, and clawed paw blocking his descent from the barstool. He did not dare try and brush by something designed to catch and hold. Jude sat back down.

 

“Then I’ll spot you,” she told him with a wide, white grin. She pulled out a wad of cash.

 

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks and the bunny will have another beer.” She handed the bartender a double sawbuck, one with a familiar, obnoxious coffee stain smeared across the green print. The horrible irony had to be some God’s joke this evening. A fox ‘looking’ for a coffee shop, Jude giving away a coffee-stained twenty to that fox, and that fox blowing that very bill on booze he couldn’t be forced to enjoy. He’d have to cap it off with an espresso tomorrow morning to round out the whole miserable divine joke.

 

Jude leaned back, detesting not only her but also himself for letting claws and teeth and slitted pupils and the scent of a female fox push him back into his barstool. It had to be the effects of the beers seeping into his brain, bringing old, forgotten, and unknown designs to life. That had to be it. He had been fine earlier.

 

But earlier, he thought her a victim. Now, he knew a predator when he saw one. Fox and rabbit, predator and prey. One more element to the great comedy he was a part of this evening.

 

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to excuse me, I’m not looking to have another – ”

 

“Drink’s on me, Cottontail,” the vixen told him, “so you don’t have to worry about getting me back.”

 

Jude swallowed back the urge to yell, to tell her that she could absolutely not call him that. He wouldn’t. He would not give her that satisfaction, the easy win of letting her know she had not only one-upped him but was so easily getting to him. “Not what I’m worried about,” he said.

 

The bartender gave them their drinks. The fox took hers. Jude let his stand. She took a sip, gently rocked the glass around, pretending to be mildly interested in the alcohol. Jude glared.

 

“So what are you worried about, Fluff?

 

Jude exhaled, fists closing.

 

“Worried that if I take my eyes off of you for more than a second I’ll lose my wallet.”

 

The fox grinned, emitting a snidely girlish giggle. “Only if you dropped it on the ground would you really be losing it. I heard you just gave your money away.”

 

Something in Jude wound tight, made the pressure in his veins and muscles rise. “I did not give my money away. I bartered for a lost necklace. I thought I was helping someone who needed it.”

 

The grin on his new drinking ‘buddy’ turned down and faded away. “Right,” she said. “Woulda just walked right back to that poor mammal and returned it, huh?”

 

He caught the edge in her tone, felt it glide and flicker across his skin like a straight razor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

She took another sip of whiskey. Jude’s beer sat still, sweat starting to form on the glass.

 

“Means you’re full of it,” she told him matter of factly. “Honestly? I’m surprised you didn’t try to bargain it down as cheap as you could before pawning it off yourself.”

 

Jude said nothing, was not aware of his mouth parting. He managed a feeble and too rabbit-like, “What?”

 

“I take it I’m on the money.”

 

“You think you know enough about me to shoot your mouth off like that?”

 

“You think it’s that much of a challenge to peg you for what you are?” The fox looked Jude dead in the eyes. Her pupils flickered. She took a measured inhale. “Alright. Tell me if this story sounds familiar. Naïve little hick with good grades and big ideas decides, “Hey! Look at me! I’m going to move to Zootopia, where predators and prey live in harmony and sing Kumbaya! Only to find: whoopsie, we don’t all get along. And that big dream of becoming a big city cop? Well, cop you are, but if you were a real cop, one that carried weight with the badge, I don’t think you’d be in here drinking by yourself and looking equally sorry for yourself. So, maybe you just graduated from meter maid duty and are on some sort of professional probation and don’t want to, oh, I don’t know, fuck up your career advancement by letting others know how your day just went. How’m I doing so far?”

 

Jude said nothing.

 

“The tight jaw and twitching nose indicate I’m on the right track. In fact, I know I am. See, I have a lot of associates in this city, associates with all sorts of ins and knows. And I check in with them every day and every night. All day today, they haven’t heard a peep about some cop getting conned out of his wallet. Not one posted flier or any radio chatter about a red fox pulling a necklace con.”

 

Jude felt his insides ice over.

 

“So to keep going down that path, I’m willing to bet that you’ve got a reputation paired with that adorable thing you call a career, and you’re upset that you have to continue slogging through it without bringing whatever ne’er-do-wells to justice. Because if you did, I’d bet it would come at the cost of admitting to something very, very humiliating. Like getting swindled by some preds. Official rules be damned, that would certainly do damage if it ever got out. And that is the thing that has you here, feeling sorry for yourself in this dive, and why you aren’t going after your most wanted guns blazing.”

 

She leaned into him, and he leaned back. “That sound about right?”

 

It took Jude a few seconds that lasted a second shy of forever to collect himself, to get his mind back on track after she so effortlessly derailed him. “How – how’d you – ”

 

She cut him off. “That’s all you cops are concerned with. How you look versus how you act. You wanted to make yourself look like a virtue of the community, only to go pawn off jewelry you found. You wanted to pretend to play hero and got played yourself.”

 

Jude forced his throat to clear, swallowed. “You thought I’d go pawn the necklace myself?”

 

One of her paws went up at the futility, her eyes rolling up. “Add deaf bunny on top of dumb bunny.”

 

“That’s what you think I would have done?”

 

“That’s what you _did_.” An accusation, full of knowing. Jude felt furious heat prickle across his back. “And what did that kindly old shopkeep tell you it was worth?”

 

Jude tried to black out the memory of the pawnshop owner laughing to the point where tears were streaming down his face. “He told me that it was worth spit. A rhinestone with an aluminum chain spray-painted gold.”

 

The fox leaned back in her stool, seeming to stretch out her body from end to end against the barstool. “Wow, would you look at that. I was right.” She thought for a moment, sipped a larger than appropriate mouthful of whiskey. The next part was said with no less malice but with something worse, something like accusing disappointment. “No surprise there. Just another prey mammal thinking he can walk all over preds because he is a diversity hire for the fuzz.”

 

The anger was beginning to twist and bind up with the stabbing. Something awful was winding tight, just behind his eyes. “That’s what this is?” Jude asked angrily. “You stalking me and coming over only to gloat all about your superiority complex?”

 

“It was me coming to see what you’re made of, to see how you’d stack up against the rest of your asshole ‘colleagues’,” she admitted in something more than a sigh but less than a command. “But now I know what you’re made of, and I’ve come to my conclusion.”

 

His mind and body wound tighter. _Get up, and walk away. Do not entice her_. “And what’s that?” Jude asked.

 

She motioned to herself. “Clever fox.”

 

She motioned to him. “Dumb bunny.”

 

The tightness in Jude snapped.

 

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jude breathed. “Because you clearly get off on thinking you’re better than me, I’ll give you half-right, because that’s all you are at best.” Jude took a moment, forced himself to exhale, made sure she wasn’t going to interrupt before continuing.

 

“I did go into a pawnshop to see the value of the necklace, to see if you had even bothered using something aside from cheap costume jewelry. Or hell, you know what? Maybe, just maybe, I was holding out some hope that it hadn’t been a con. That it was real and the city had just separated us and I’d have to locate you to return something valuable. Maybe if it was real, there’d be an inscription or something that would have led me back to someone having a really bad day. Believe me, I was really hoping for it.”

 

The fox regarded him with mild amusement, giving him most but not all of her attention.

 

“I did not try and walk your partner down on price. I gave him all of my emergency cash, up front for it, no bargaining. Or did your big-eared ‘partner’ not tell you that? Told you I only ponied up seventy or maybe fifty when I really gave her one hundred flat for your garbage?”

 

There was a spark of something that flashed in the fox’s eyes, bright and sudden, and then it was gone. The tightness in Jude’s muscles started burning, and for once in the past twenty-four hours, it felt good. Jude leaned forward. The lingering fear commanding him to keep a safe distance from her was incinerated.

 

“Let me tell you something, and I do not give a damn if you believe me or not, because it is the truth. On my life, I was going to return that necklace to you, even though I just blew all my emergency cash on you, a stranger. You know why I’d do that, in or out of my uniform?”

 

The vixen did not respond. Did not flinch. Did nothing. Now, he commanded her full attention.

 

“Because that is what a decent mammal does,” Jude answered. “They see someone in need, and they go and help them. Without prejudice, without bias. Without the fear that they aren’t like the rest of this city, trying to taking advantage of them. They go and help them, because that should be the first thing that comes to mind. They don’t try and make a quick buck off of someone else’s misery or their trust. But I doubt that’s something a fox would understand.”

 

_That_ struck a real nerve, and Jude saw it, even felt it across his skin. The result was akin to splashing gasoline over cherry red coals. The vixen’s eyes went thin, ears back. The start of a snarl pulled up her lips. It made the hairs on Jude’s body stand on end.

 

Jude liked to think he was better than this, but he had been having an awful time since starting in this city. Had an incredibly belittling and demeaning nine-month and fourteen day long ‘probationary period’ of being a meter maid. Was tired from having to give 110% at everything just to be seen as an equal amongst his coworkers. And to top it all off, he had survived a particularly shitty day. Now, with a few beers in him, he was feeling no pain and no regrets. He felt like getting some of the shitty grime from this day off of him and onto someone else. Seeing the fox have the audacity to react like that after what she’d pulled on him? There was no question about who to stab with circumstance’s cruel malice.

 

Someone more deserving of it than him.

 

“So don’t you dare give _me_ any of that shit about what I did being typical of a police officer. Or of a prey mammal. Because what you did was typical of a lowlife criminal. And it was typical for a fox.”

 

It’s wrong. It’s wrong, it’s mean, it’s nasty and cruel and speciest, and right there, Jude did not care. He got up, and the vixen did not move a muscle to stop him. Only her eyes moved, following him with a disturbing, predatory precision. The bragging and taunting disguised as drinking formality had ended.

 

“I’m out of here,” Jude said, as if he needed to let the vixen know that now was where the conversation was absolutely ending and that it was ending on the buck’s last word. “I’m going to go for a piss, and then home” (he was not entirely sure why he told her this). “And I hope I never run into you again.” (he was pretty sure why he told her this).

 

He refused to look at her as he landed on the floor, moved away from the bar towards the back. He noted the pack of coyotes walking in, looking unamused and looking to become amused. Doubly glad that he was on his way out.

 

He made sure to only exhale once the bathroom door closed behind him. Jude knew once his feet hit the wooden floor that he had one too many. Knew that the three – four? Couldn’t have been more than four – beers downed in rapid succession without the buffering aide of food had altered his mental state. The tiles in front of his face above the urinal had the smallest quality of vibration to them. Which was ridiculous, because tiles did not vibrate above piss-soaked porcelain. Yeah, one beer too many. Probably the culprit for his floating balance and light feeling in his face. Probably the culprit behind that awful voice in the back of his head, too. The one screaming about how wrong he was, scolding that he had let himself go too far, that he was far better than that. As if that wasn’t enough, a despondent feeling had started growing in his stomach, branching out and spreading across him like a vile weed.

 

Jude let his forehead rest against his arm over the urinal, staring down at himself (not unpleasant) and the bar’s latrine (deeply unpleasant). Jude snapped out of his alcohol stupor at the realization of ‘I think I have been standing here too long. And I’m sure I stopped pissing minutes ago.’

 

He shook off the last lingering drops of urine, shook his head, washed his paws, and left the bathroom, thinking _go straight out the door, don’t you dare even look in her direction._

 

Jude not only looked in her direction, he looked right at the seat she was in – _had_ _been_ occupying, since now it was not housing any red fox. Jude scanned the bar and the sorted collection of tables. No flashes of red fur. Seemed she had beat him out the door, just like her disappearing act from earlier. Something guilty pulled in his stomach, and he forced back the feeling.

 

The city was cold, her frigid, metallic breath wrapping around Jude’s ankles, ears, and neck. It felt good to be out of the stuffy warmth of that dive, the cold slapping him in the face refreshing and the slightest bit reassuring. This was better. Better than being in that bar, where it was too warm and where he was within arm’s length of her.

 

Looking up to his right (not there) and to the left (not there either), Jude walked left. He pushed out the frustration of this day from his mind, focusing on just existing in the city’s night. He tried to let that translate into something like peace of mind.

 

The attempt at peace of mind was ruined by his hearing.

 

The sound ricochet off the skyscrapers, pinging between concrete, brick, and steel from the alley to his left. Even against the normal cacophony of the city, Jude knew it was foreign, knew it was inherently _wrong._ He turned in reflex with his ear, following his hearing with his sight. Down the alley, he recognized a pack of coyotes, the same pack he watched enter the bar, occupying the byway. With them, pressed flat to a wall, was the fox.

 

They weren’t touching her

 

(not yet)

 

but they were the wrong distance away from her. They were too close. She was pushing herself further and further into the brick. They were all grinning. She was not. Some tales were wagging. Hers was frayed, wrapped up and around her legs as if it could hide her.

 

Something unnerving and ugly and awful and panic-inducing squeezed in Jude’s stomach.

 

_She needs help._

_Or she is luring you into another con._

 

The fox turned and her eyes met his. Hers were wide with absolute panic. Her mouth was in a tight line that wasn’t going to chance moving.

 

_No, she really needs help._

 

_She had a similar look when searching for her ‘necklace.’ She’s trying to get you back for what you said. Maybe do more than just take your money off your paws this time._

 

Jude saw one coyote, the largest one and one closest to her, hold something near her head. Jude saw the fox’s eyes sink into her skull. An edge of lethal silver appeared from the coyote’s paw. The Garand rifle-esque _PING_ of a switchblade coming to life hit Jude’s ears.

 

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

 

The coyotes turned and saw the rabbit walking towards them, the fox looking as well.

 

Jude pulled out his wallet and phone, dialing a series of numbers and holding his wallet open so the gold shield was showing front and center.

 

Jude watched the pearlescent blade vanish back into its black housing, and the case went smoothly with gravity down the lead’s sleeve. Jude noted it was tucked in the left arm. A few of the canines backed up, throwing anxious and uncertain glances at the three around the fox. Those three did not look anxious or uncertain. They certainly weren’t concerned enough to even raise their voices above normal volume.

 

“This is none of your business, rabbit,” one told him.

 

“Putting a switchblade to someone’s throat absolutely makes it my business,” Jude said. “Beat it.”

 

The tallest one, the one centered between the two intent on holding ground with him, the one with the switch up his left sleeve, did not move, didn’t even flinch. He didn’t respond.

 

“And just who in the fuck do you think you are?” one of the lead’s two backups said with a hint of inebriated slur. “Giving mammals higher up in the food chain orders?”

 

“ZPD, Officer Hopps.” Gave his wallet, and his badge, a shake at them like a talisman. “Last time I’m going to tell you to back off from her and get lost. Last chance at doing this the easy way.”

 

The other of the two talkers barked in laughter. The leader kept his eyes trained on Jude. He didn’t laugh.

 

“You hearin’ this?” the laughing one said, “The easy way, says the bunny. And what’s the ‘hard way’ if we decide when we’re good and done with her?” Something awful and revolting flashed in Jude’s mind. “Or with you?” Another something awful joined the psychological horror show.

 

Jude presented his phone, face open and on the dial screen. He saw his arm shaking, forced it still.

 

The three coyotes leaned forward and saw a string of numbers, pre-dialed and awaiting a push on the green call button. Two saw that an asterisk was included with the numbers. The leader noted the sequence started with 911.

 

“The fuck is that?” one of the two muttered.

 

“This is the police-only direct dial,” Jude answered. “Dialing 911 still means having to either describe your situation to the operator or waiting for however many seconds until they suspect something is wrong and try triangulating your phone to send units to it. This?” Another shake of the phone. “This is the hard way. I push call, and instantly, every precinct knows that an off duty officer is requesting immediate and urgent assistance. No waiting.

 

“I can tell you all that after I press this button, I’ll be able to at least kick some of your butts. But being honest, there’s a lot of you. And you’ve got sharper parts than I do. So when my backup arrives and sees me with one or two scratches, I’d bet the tranq guns are going away. And guns that hit a hell of a lot harder are gonna come out.”

 

No one moved, or blinked, or scoffed, or laughed.

 

“Easy way is all of you leaving this alley and never bothering that fox again,” Jude started, taking a step forward that was met with some steps back, “or we do this the hard way. One way ends with everyone alright. The other does not. Your call.”

 

The leader coyote, the quiet one with the switchblade tucked up into his left sleeve, squinted and took a step forward toward Jude. Then another. And another. Jude felt his heart starting to hammer fissures into his ribs.

 

_He’s gonna go for it, oh shit, Oh Shit –_

 

“Let’s go,” the alpha muttered, turning to his pack. Without argument, they all started towards the other end of the alley, the two flanking the fox melting away from her and absorbing into their group. In what felt like a second but was probably only two seconds, the fox put herself directly next to Jude.

 

The fox and rabbit watched the pack move down the alley and out into the city streets. The rabbit exhaled, shuddered, arms now shaking as he tried to pocket his phone and wallet in one unsuccessful motion.

 

Jude heard the hiccup in his breath, thought he had been holding it so long he had choked on his own exhale, and saw that the fox next to him was also exhaling. One of her paws ran through her fur on the side of her muzzle.

 

He recognized the face. Trying to hide the encroaching and overwhelming panic with a collected and assessing cool. It was half working.

 

They both stood together in the near dark, under the cones of rotted-orange building lights and amidst cigarette butts and buildings draining their unknown fluids onto the cracked asphalt. Their mutual silence began to tick into minutes.

 

She spoke first, trying to form a complete and suave-sounding sentence. Again, that half worked. “Well, that was kinda – completely terrifying. Christ in a birch bark canoe . . . ” She didn’t even seem to be talking to Jude, only speaking to bleed out the nervous pressure she had managed to keep sealed.

 

Then she turned her head to him, addressing him directly. “That dial-up the real thing? You cops really have your own hot line?”

 

_No, I made that up to force their paw. Total bullshit. That tall one definitely knew about 911 reaction times. Had to bluff. Off duty police have to call 911 and speak with an operator like everyone else._

“Yes it is, and yes we do. Perks of being an officer.” Jude hoped it sounded convincing. Looking at the fox, he was (mostly) sure she bought it. If not by the amazed face she made at hearing him, then by how quickly she made that same amazed look disappear behind that cool, collected mask. Jude watched with removed amazement he didn’t even bother to try hiding. It was like smoothing out the wrinkles in clothes. One moment, the true strain of their encounter was evident in her eyes and ears, in her lips and nose. The next, with paws that ran from snout to the tops of her ears, the fissures and creases were gone, as if taken away with an iron. She looked fine. Artificial, but fine. Not like she had been the center of something pretty bad only a few moments ago.

 

Although, he thought he saw something folding away, behind the eyes. Something private and true being tucked away. Out of sight, out of mind.

 

Both opened their mouths to speak, both saw the other taking the initiative, and both forced their mouths shut. Neither tried to fill in the space immediately. They were facing their next dilemma: How to make conversation after exchanging fairly venomous barbs at a bar and after surviving whatever was about to happen in a dark and secluded alley. Even if the worry had been taken from her face, evidence was still present. Jude watched her feel up and down her sides with her paws, noted her tail tucked dutifully to her side. Her ears (and his) were cocked up, pivoting, listening for a group of canine footfalls moving towards them. Thankfully, it was still only them and the mammals loitering in the streets.

 

For the sake of their frayed nerves, they needed to deescalate.

 

To both of their surprises, the vixen went first. “Soooo . . . Wow, I cannot believe I am going to say this to a cop, but, uhm, yeah.” She pivoted to face him. Jude braced for a quick-witted barb or something equally unpleasant to cap off his night. It would surprise him if she gave him otherwise, even after –

 

“Thank you for that.”

 

The words sunk in, and Jude stared back. It took him a moment, adrenaline and booze addling his normally adept sociability.

 

“Uhm, Yeah! Yeah, of course. Happy to have helped. Glad you weren’t hurt.”

 

Jude stared, the fox that still did not have a damn name stared, and their conversation choked and stalled. Again.

 

The vixen opened her mouth to say something more, paused for a second too long, and Jude filled in.

 

“I need to apologize.” It came out more forceful than intended, more an order rather than an omission.

 

She rightfully looked confused, and made no attempt to hide it. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works. You were the one that came to my rescue – ”

 

“Not about that. Not about whatever almost happened here.” He waved both paws. “About what I said in the bar, before this.” Jude paused, tried collecting his scrambled mind, tried to listen to the voice in the back of his head. “What I said was wrong. It was cruel, and speciest, and unfair.”

 

“Look, you don’t – ”

 

“Please,” he interrupted. He was drained, he was frightened, and he was exhausted. This had to come out so that he could find some semblance of sleep tonight. It had to come out because he needed it out. “I just need you to know that I am sorry for the . . . for the predator comment, for fox comment. Still pissed that you swindled me, and I will not forget that, but – but I like to think that I’m better than how I acted back there. There’s no getting around how wrong I was to say those things.”

 

Jude chanced a look at her. He saw no smug smile, no disinterest, no apathy. Just her attention, that unwavering, predatory attention focused on him and only him.

 

Jude forced the first few words, to get his mind off of that fact and back to the much-needed apology. “I don’t want us to part into the world with that having been our last talk. It was wrong of you to do that and to say those things, but it was just as wrong of me to say something so awful.” Jude exhaled, felt the pressure releasing from his body. Right. This was right. This was the right thing to do. Even if she told him off, told him she did not need his pity, called him a dumb bunny, that would be alright. At least he was exiting this encounter with his best foot forward.

 

The nervous pressure spiked back up again at hearing her speak, at finally saying something and making it a conversation.

 

“Plenty of mammals I know would have just left me here,” she said. “After our chat, I thought you would’ve done the same.”

 

The same feeling at hearing the coyote’s threats, that awful disgust mixed with horror, came back.

 

“You thought I’d leave you to them?”

 

She folded her arms. She almost looked guilty, or maybe disappointed. “You weren’t wrong about me acting like a bitch and then some today.”

 

“That, in no way, would’ve excused me leaving you alone with those creeps.” It was Jude’s turn to shake his head, to smooth down his ears at the audacity of what he was hearing.

 

She shrugged at seeing his disbelief. “I’ve run with some tough mammals. Like I said, plenty would have turned and walked.”

 

“Maybe you just need to get to know better mammals.”

 

She stared at him. Didn’t say anything back, just stared. He couldn’t read it. With each passing second, the uneasy coil inside him came back to life. It now lacked any malice, but did not lack in caution. It went from steady-paced squeezing to a rapid pinch at seeing her become larger to him, taking a quick and sure step towards him, a step that put them a little closer together.

 

Close enough that he saw her nostrils lightly flaring. Not entirely forward, but not subtle enough to go unnoticed. Again, physical concentration was needed to smooth out the muscles of his face, to stop his own nose from reflexively doing the same.

 

A ghost of a smile crept up one side of her face. She must have caught his nose twitching, and probably his strained attempt at hiding it.

 

_Smile a little more and I’ll be seeing some teeth,_ he thought. The idea sparked a chill in him. It made him nervous. Excited. He noted to examine the second reaction in depth when sober.

 

She leaned back, finished in her personal yet cursory investigation of him. “Well, looks like I’ve just scratched the surface when it comes to bunny police officers. In the spirit of wearing hearts on our sleeves tonight, I will follow suit.”

 

“By follow suit, you mean you’re gonna stand up for me when it’s my back to the wall?”

 

“It means that I’m sorry for what I said and how I acted. Really, I mean it. It was wrong to kick you while you were down like that. So, I am sorry.” And she sounded it. Even if there was a slim chance it wasn’t as heartfelt as she meant it, Jude let himself enjoy it anyway. “And, while I suspect I will come to regret this later, I think it is more than fair to say I owe you one.” Jude enjoyed that as well.

 

“Makes us almost even. You are still not off the hook for ripping me off,” Jude warned.

 

Now, that smile appeared, accompanied with a small laugh. “Wouldn’t be my first time in trouble with the law.”

 

“No, but it’s your first time with me.”

 

It took him a few seconds to realize the double entendre. She got it instantly, and made it real with a salacious grin. The smile grew wider, full of more teeth. Her ear flicked once.

 

“Why?” Jude muttered to himself, paws smoothing back his beet red ears. “Why me? Why all of this in _one night_ . . . Couldn’t this have been spaced out at least over a long weekend?”

 

The fox saw another opportunity, and bookmarked it away for another time. “In all fairness, it’s been an evening and a half, so I’m willing to let that one go by the wayside.”

 

“What, you gonna hold it over my head?”

 

“Left my recording device at home,” she said with a small wink.

 

Jude wasn’t sure why he wanted to ask the next question, because he did not want to know the answer. So he wouldn’t ask. Now would be the polite part of the conversation where he’d ask for her name. He would absolutely not ask for her name. Even amidst the relief of ending the evening amicably, he would not further ingrain himself with this fox.

 

“I never got your name,” Jude stated.

 

“No, you didn’t.” The fox smiled. Not malevolent, not even bitchy. Coy. Almost playful. “I didn’t get yours either.”

 

“Sure you did,” Jude replied. Her smile pulled down, replaced with puzzlement and the smallest inkling of curiosity.

 

“I got your last name,” she clarified. “Hopps.”

 

“Good to know I’m more than just ‘Cottontail.’ Also, you did get my first.”

 

“Enlighten me.”

 

“Officer.”

 

The joke was lame and fell flat on its face, and Jude was fine with it. Boring humor couldn’t possibly get a noteworthy reaction out of her – – – and now she was grinning and giggling, actually giggling, at his remorseful, bleach drinking-ly awful attempt at comedy. It lit something warm in his chest.

 

“Well, _Officer Hopps_ , I thank you again for what you said and for stepping up back there.” She took a step closer

 

_almost too close_

 

towards him. “I’ll remember both your apology for acting like a bigoted jerk – ”

 

“ – two way street – ” Jude interjected.

 

She allowed the smallest concession of a nod. “ – and you coming to my rescue . . . and your Freudian slip.”

 

Jude did not interject at that. He’d let that sleeping dog lie.

 

Jude did stop breathing at feeling her come into physical contact with him. Felt his lungs lock at the feeling of body heat exchange between them in the night air, felt soft vulpine fur brush against his open palm down on his side. She moved by him, past him and against him, pressing her side against his, a quick and fluid body pass that was over the moment it fully registered. A complete breach of personal space and a clear predatory demonstration. A moment he immediately regretted not being ready for, not having the wherewithal to have anticipated it, not until her tail ghosted across his ankles. Jude spun to look at her walking away from him, eyes wide and mouth parted. Her face portrayed faux innocence; her eyes whispered something entirely else.

 

“I’ll see you around,” she told him, sounding completely serious and assured.

 

That raised a question, one he was able to properly form the words to. “You sure? There’s how many millions of us packed together in this city?”

 

“Yet I’ve run into you three separate times tonight,” she singsonged. “Yes, I’m sure.” Another wink, a small wave, and that was that.

 

He watched her go until she fell out of sight and melted away into the city.

 

_Didn’t even get her name._

 

Jude started back homebound. He let the cityscape blur around him, let it serve as the background music to the movie he was replaying in his head. Replaying thoughts, conversations, moments and looks. Her.

 

He was reliving the initial con for the fourth time in his mind. Now, it had less of a humiliating sting to it. Still stung, no doubt, but somehow with not as much venom now. There was now a fascination to it, and Jude couldn’t get it out of his mind. A confidence game that the two foxes had run so perfectly. And had the balls to go through with a cop. “A lost necklace con,” he said aloud. “So freakin’ obvious. Who the heck just reaches for jewelry and realizes it’s – ”

 

_Gone_. Jude had both paws feel-checking as he mentally and physically walked through the con. One went to his front pocket and felt his phone. The other went to his back pocket and felt only his rear. Empty space. His heart dropped into his ass. His wallet was _gone._

 

Fool me once, shame on you.

 

Right before they split, she had come so close to him. Close enough to rub up against his body, enough to close out the distance with actual physical connection. Close enough to feel him, to even run a paw across him without any notice. He recalled her words from the bar. _Only if you dropped it on the ground would you really be losing it._ She was right. It wasn’t lost then. It was stolen now.

 

Fool me twice, shame on me.

 

Jude felt his limbs shake, felt the scream starting to gain vitriolic traction in his chest. He spun around, walking, jogging, running, then sprinting back the way he came, sprinting across streets with blaring horns and past familiar blocks with the same pointless décor. Now, a list of unsavory and vile words were streaming in his mind as his eyes looked for anything remotely fox or wearing a red sash belt.

 

_I do not care if I have to haul her in with one arm pinned to her back. I do not care if I have to bring her down with something – anything – even fucking tax evasion! I will not let her look down on me like the rest of this city. I will not let her call me a dumb bunny, and I sure as shit will not let her get away with conning me twice in one night!_

 

Jude almost ran into her, stopping because his vision suddenly filled with that red sash and that orange fur.

 

He looked at her, right into her eyes, and she recoiled back, eyes wide and paws going up as if he was the mammal now holding a switchblade. Jude noticed something infuriatingly familiar in her one paw. She saw his gaze, and shot out the paw holding that familiar something.

 

She even sounded a little fearful. “Here!” She pushed out her paw and his wallet towards him. “I swear, I was just walking back by the bar and saw it on the ground.”

 

Jude said nothing.

 

“Must’ve dropped out of your pants during our little showdown,” she tried.

 

“Dropped?”

 

“Well . . . yeah! And I was just on my way to return it to its rightful owner.”

 

Jude couldn’t say anything, mouth open in disbelief and gathering fury.

 

The fox’s smile waned, and she leaned back, still holding his wallet out towards him like she was about to feed an alligator. “I’m not running from you, if that counts for anything.”

 

“We both know I’d catch you,” Jude hissed.

 

“With those legs? And how fast you were just moving?” the fox exclaimed, casting a quick look before reeling it back in. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

Jude snatched his wallet and began sorting through it. “Oh c’mon!” he heard. “Everything important is in there, I swear. Well, except that money you gave awa – ”

 

– Jude cut her a look –

 

“awayyyand that’s none of my business.”

 

He flipped through everything. It was all still there, most importantly his state ID and police ID. And his credit card, which he would definitely have to cut up and cancel within the next ten minutes. He went through it twice, and twice he found nothing alarming, found no pockets vacated.

 

Jude glanced at her, trying to skim the umpteenth read on her, which she was purposefully making impossible. Smiling politely – and dare he even think it – honestly. Bright eyes, forward posture, waiting on him to give approval that they were square or tight or even-stevens or whatever the hell underground lingo con artists used for moments like these.

 

“Just returning it,” she reassured with an eager nod.

 

“Sure,” Jude muttered, and then, with only half a heart behind it, “Thanks.”

 

The sweet smile turned sly, and she waggled her eyebrows at him. Again, a foreign feeling snapped across his body. Jude stifled it, hoped he’d remember it later. These out-of-place, conflicting thoughts and feelings would need to be dissected at a later time and date.

 

“This makes four in one day, in case you were wondering. And with that, I do bid you adieu for the night.” She curtsied and, for the encore of their evening, more waltzed than walked back into the night of the city. Jude let her go.

 

_And still no name._ Jude concentrated on that intrusive thought.

 

_Maybe that’s for the best._

 

He filtered through his wallet again, this time taking stock of each and every item. He double-checked for his phone (there) and keys (also there) before resuming. Still void of dollar bills, both regular and emergency. No surprise there. Fingers flipping through the collected assortment of cards that had use, like insurance, voter ID, his train and bus passes, and those that did not, like the Wawa gift card loaded with all of $1.04 and the movie ticket voucher –

 

Jude stopped. She had left all the gift cards, including the Visa gift card loaded with forty-five dollars. Those didn’t have anything to copy, nothing to outwardly hijack like a credit card’s information. In fact, they were among the easiest to use, and therefore easiest to steal. You just had to have one. No ID or PIN needed. Swipe and done.

 

“And you left all of them?” Jude asked himself as he fingered through the pile of plastic and paper left untouched. _Did she even leave the Snarlbucks?_ He kept flipping, even found cards that he had almost forgotten about. He got to the end, and found that the Snarlbucks card that definitely used to be in there was missing.

 

Something new had taken its place.

 

The last card in the stack had never been in his wallet. Jude pulled it out, tucked his wallet back into his pocket, and dedicated his attention to his newfound possession.

 

A cardboard-stock gift card. More pressed than written into the top left corner was CREMA. The coffee shop Jude had originally thought the fox had been looking for, the one across the street from where he had walked right into her trap. It was official; coffee was the strange, non-symbolic, underlying connection of tonight’s divine comedy between the bunny cop and the fox con artist. Coffee shop, coffee-smeared cash given, coffee-smeared cash spent, and now a voucher for coffee on her. A block of info in the middle displayed the following, drawn and inscribed with what looked and smelled like honest-to-God Sharpie marker ink.

 

**GOOD FOR:**

**1 COFFEE**

| 

**1 ANATOLIA**  
  
---|---  
  
**1 REDEYE**

| 

**1 B-52**  
  
**1 MAROCCHINO**

| 

**1 IRISH**  
  
 

If the list had started with ‘REDEYE,’ Jude would have sooner guessed this a list for party drugs and other illegal stimulants, although he was guessing that items REDEYE through IRISH were in the same league as coffee. Hopefully. Jude turned the card over. Surprisingly effeminate pawwriting greeted him, of which had not been done with thick black marker but with thin black pen.

 

_Hey Cottontail_

_Sorry, can’t reimburse you atm. Because, you know, you gave it away._

_But I can give you this. And my first name._

_I’m Nicole._

_Pleasure to meet you, Officer JUDE Hopps. Till we meet again._

 

Jude felt that odd and now exhaustingly familiar feeling creeping up on him at learning something about her. He should still be angry, should still be upset and ready to track her down with every available resource he had come sunrise to bring justice. Which he definitely would.

 

He should not be smiling.

 

Should not be mouthing her name, seeing how it floated off his lips. The chuckle at replaying her little card trick hustle in his mind’s eye should not have happened, either.

 

He should not find her a little endearing, maybe even a little interesting.

 

_Till we meet again._

“Till then, Nicole,” he said.

 

Jude was looking forward to seeing her again, in whichever way the world maneuvered them back together. Four in one day? Maybe that chance luck would hold out. He’d hold on to his newfound prize, maybe even swing by there sometime soon to cash in.

 

But he’d still cancel his credit card tonight, and chop it up into plastic bits. Just to be safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Drummer for his proofing and error checking! And thanks to FeverWildeHopps over on tumblr, who's wonderful drawings of a female Nick (she's the one who came up with the brilliant idea for the red sash on Nick; a great tie-in to connect female Nick to male Nick) pushed me from thinking about the idea to writing it out and for letting me use that smart little detail.


	17. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde is faced with a familiar yet treacherous choice, and is reminded that choices are like coins. They always have two sides.

The idea is immediate, cold, and calculated. Instead of feeling a rising panic, something he thinks someone with a stronger moral compass would feel, Nick Wilde feels an old and familiar calm fall over him. He feels in control, collected. The idea has taken root, planting itself right in the center of his mind’s eye.

 

He should be worried about how fast that idea dug into his head, how he isn’t taking any measures to try and weed it out. But again, he isn’t worried. He has felt this comfortable sort of serenity many times before. Old habits and such.

 

The officer part has been shut down, the breaker box blown and forced off by too much tempting stimulus. The old part of him has flown on, gears spinning and shredding away the gossamer that has collected in his head.

 

He is standing at the scene of a drug bust, dressed in his tactical vest and gear, staring down at an open crate in a distribution center on the West Bank. Judy is outside with the rest of the officers, placing suspects into transport and cordoning off the block from oncoming traffic and pedestrians.

 

Nick, by chance and circumstance alone, is left inside the building. By himself. There are no security cameras anywhere. He knows this as fact, because that was the first angle the ZPD had tried to focus on at the start of this investigation eight months earlier. It’s only him and the Gods in this room right now, and he is sure the Gods couldn’t care less about what happens in here.

 

In his paw is a stack of cellophane-wrapped dollar bills. Probably ten grand, maybe fifteen depending on the denomination being consistent. Incredibly thin. It is one stack of many. One piece of evidence that will be bagged, tagged, taken into the evidence vault, and used for ransom payments and bankrolling future stings and undercover operations. It is one of so many. Beneath his paw are thousands more, bundle after bundle of drug money, rubber banded and wrapped tight in plastic to hide away the scent. There’s probably a million or so in cash alone in this one crate. He looks around the warehouse floor. There are several other unopened crates, and Nick has a fairly good idea about what could be in them. He can’t smell any drugs, so one of two possibilities is likely out.

 

His attention on the other crates is fleeting. His attention is immediately back on the stack of money in his paw. He needs to set it down, needs to finish the rounds just to quadruple check that the crime scene is secured, that there’s no one else in the vicinity. But he knows there isn’t anyone else. He can’t hear or smell any other mammal in this room. And the one entrance the ZPD is currently using to enter and exit has a particularly loud door, one without stoppers and with rusting hinges. It’s just him and the money.

 

Nick doesn’t set the money down. He continues to stare at it, fingers idly tapping the back of the bills. The money and being alone with it has triggered something. An old, hauntingly familiar design reactivated with the right kind of fresh stimulus.

 

The numbers of each and every one of these bills will be scanned into a registry so that they flag if they ever appear at any bank. They will all disappear from the world in under a minute’s time, including the stack he’s holding.

 

The old part of him, the one in clear conflict with his new and current life, is thinking. Calculating. Right now, there’s no devil and angel bickering and debating on his shoulders. He had those earlier, back when he was a cub. After his night with the ranger scouts, and for a very long time after that, there was only one voice. Both sides had merged into one, reassuring him that his lifestyle was good for him. That it was deserving of him. That he was deserving of it. He had lived with it for years and assumed he’d be living with it for the rest of his life. Probably right up until it got himself killed.

 

Or until one day, when that unified guiding voice was fissured by an annoying meter maid pestering him in perhaps his most above-ground con. Nick was sure that crack would be filled in with cement, similar to the kind he left her standing in after their first encounter. After she’d trod home with cement-encased feet, the cleft would seal back up, and he’d be safe and reassured in having the one moral voice that had kept him alive for all these years.

 

In the course of forty-eight hours, that fissure, one that had the strength of an earthquake behind it in the form of a grey rabbit, successfully split his moral compass from one back into two. And with her in his life, so it had remained.

 

The split had brought back out the good in him, the honest good in him, and had locked up the old and very dishonest parts of him. The rabbit had that wonderful effect on him when she was around.

 

She was not around now. And it has been a long time since the devil took control. The angel is now on break, probably trying to fix the inner morality breaker box, trying to get those switches unstuck and back to where they should be. In the meantime, his inner devil – Nick’s old self – something that probably has horns, gargoyle wings, and a burning halo scarring into his neck like a collar made of molten iron, has taken center stage in Nick’s mind. It taps the mic, listens for the playback, grins, and begins.

 

It surely couldn’t hurt to weigh the odds, could it? Old habits and such.

 

The stack of money is light, but more importantly, thin. Very, very thin. Nick is wearing a tactical vest, full of pouches for firearm magazines and bolstered with steel plating. Easy (but perhaps too brazen) to tuck the stacks into those outer pouches. Smarter to tuck the bills underneath the vest, between shirt and fur and along his chest and belly. The tight strapping of the vest will keep them secured and fixed against him, and the pouches will disguise the money’s bulk with their own. He fans through the stack in his paw, and feels the smile twist his face up into something close to manic. Given just how thin each stack is, Nick is confident that he can walk out with at least one hundred grand, at most two hundred grand. Evidence won’t investigate the monetary total since there is no ‘before’ to measure up to the ‘after.’ Whatcha see is whatcha get. No one is going to notice any money missing, and on the extremely slim chance that one of the dealers does fess up to the exact count, who is going to believe him? The plastic wrapping eliminates the scent, and Nick knows that he and every other officer is sweating adrenaline-loaded bullets out here. No one, not even the wolves, would detect the faint scent of cellophane, let alone contraband cash. Moving the money from vest to a vessel that can be walked out the front door is cake. Nick has his change of clothes and the large duffel bag they came in back at the precinct. A bag reeking of sweaty fox garments wouldn’t draw an ounce of attention.

 

If he were to lift a few bundles in his newfound but increasingly shortening alone time, he would have to launder them. Couldn’t risk depositing them right away to have one throwing up a red flag on a previously tagged serial number. Good thing he still has a phone book’s worth of mammals who’d be happy to do business. Finnick was always a reliable middlemammal, but there were others if that was too close. Nick could easily get sixty-five, maybe seventy cents on the dollar back on this. Deposit in continually varying amounts less than nine thousand for banking, tuck the rest of the cash away to be used as needed.

 

As far as cons and thefts went? Easy as One, Two, Three.

 

Now, the devil in his head whispers to him, what would we acquire with our new gotten gains?

 

Nick’s ears pivot. Still alone, but he knows that will be over soon. Maybe forty-five seconds, maximum, before an officer comes back in, meaning fifteen seconds at most to safely make the decision. Nick pretends to examine the stack of money in the meantime.

 

The devil – or the Con Artist, which sounds much better – in Nick starts listing off the things that produce a desirous smile, that make him very excited to own. A new and flashy car, paid for in full. Maybe a few artistic rarities. Top shelf liquor. Imported cigars. A securities box in a private vault downtown (he’s been itching for one of those for years now, even now as an officer and out of The Life). Those antique dueling pistols he has been eyeing for years . . .

 

Nick hears something. He distances the money away from his chest, putting it back at arm’s length. Without turning, his ears rotate and pivot. The dialogue in his head is put on mute. Nick listens, and determines it was just a chance noise from the building. Or maybe someone getting thrown into the side of a squad car outside. Drug dealers never liked being pushed around and usually needed reminding of who now had reign of their leash.

 

Nick takes his inner monologue off mute, and the Con Artist continues listing items. Maybe a few three-piece tailored suits. Fioravanti made, of course. That idea catches and holds Nick’s attention. Eight thousand dollars a suit, fitted to the millimeter. Matching ties, pocket squares, and tie bars. You-know-who would just drop her panties at seeing you taking her out to a three-star Michelin restaurant in that attire.

 

The angel – perhaps the Inner Officer, if Nick’s being honest with himself – chimes in from the back of his mind like a backseat driver: You know, she also deserves some fine jewelry. A beautiful dress to match. Something that makes her look twice as stunning as she already is.

 

The Con Artist agrees.

 

The Inner Officer says something else.

 

If we’re throwing spending ideas around, you know what that money could also go to? Your rainy day account, for those little twists life loves to throw at you and her. Or maybe a down payment on a new place. You and her have been looking, and it would make things a whole lot easier.

 

The Con Artist says nothing to this. Nick twirls the parcel of money around. It feels a little heavier now.

 

It could also go to your mom, Inner Officer says. You know she could use it. She has definitely earned it after putting up with you for your whole life. Or . . . or it could go to Judy’s family. She doesn’t know that you’ve heard her on the phone with her family. Not late at night when she thinks you aren’t listening in. But you’ve heard those talks, at least Judy’s side of them. Doesn’t sound good. Not at all. Sounds like Bonnie and Stu definitely need it.

 

So we are in agreement, the Con Artist spells out, punctuating each word with an uneasy period. We are taking it . . .

 

That would mean having to tell her, Nick thinks. No matter what, she’d know. She’d ask where it came from. I would have to tell her.

 

And you know what she’d say – what she’d do – if you told her where this money came from, says his Inner Officer.

 

Or, says Con Artist, you could tell her it came from your savings. Which would be true after it’s washed and deposited. Not even a white lie.

 

It’s an omission, Nick thinks. An omission because I did something that I can’t fully disclose. I won’t be able to take it back. Once I put it into my vest, I can’t risk taking it out until back at the station. And then it’s there. And then it’s on me.

 

Oh Jesus, moans the Con Artist, we already know how to get it clean and back in your paws. Once it’s there, what’s a harmless little ~~white lie~~ omission? It’s drug money. You’re not robbing some working stiff. You’re taking money out of the cycle of violence. The chief used that phrase in his press conference awhile back. If he says it, there has to be some honest truth in there.

 

Those words stick. Honest. Truth.

 

Nick has just realized that he has picked up four more stacks of contraband money. But he isn’t stuffing them under his vest. He’s staring at them, really feeling their weight now. His time is winding down, maybe thirty seconds. It’s in or it’s out. The window to choose is closing.

 

What’s stopping you, asks the Con Artist. There’s practically no risk. One of the easiest takes you’ve ever had. Not like you haven’t done far worse.

 

But he’s never done something like this since joining the force.

 

What’s one last hurrah? Something for you and for her, says the Con Artist.

 

Nick has never done something like this since meeting her.

 

You know how this will end, mutters the Inner Officer.

 

If he is caught, counters the Con Artist.

 

Which he will be, says his Inner Officer, but not by his fellow officers.

 

No, thinks Nick. By her.

 

Something cold and certain and awful creeps onto the stage of Nick’s mind. Both Inner Officer and Con Artist suddenly become serious. Worried. Quiet.

 

He needs to choose. Start stuffing, or throw it back.

 

He has always known what would happen if he was caught doing something like this by the ZPD. Knew those risks, had faced them innumerable times before. That was all familiar and expected. But most of all, he knew that he could weather that. Barely, but he could.

 

He needs to choose. It has been too long. Someone will notice.

 

Nick knew he could not weather being caught by her. He couldn’t stomach the thought of being asked in front of her to open his bag, to have others root through it to find things that should not be mixed in with dirty laundry. He couldn’t imagine having to face her, caught red-pawed. Couldn’t imagine the look on her face, couldn’t stomach what she would say to him.

 

He needs to choose. But his ability to choose is stopped by the overwhelming number of options and what if’s and possible outcomes . . .

 

But if he could get away with, could safely get this money, it could do so much for them, for her. It would be so much good for them, would allow them so many more options out of life. That alone makes it worth the risk . . .

 

But he also knows what it would do to her – to them – if he was caught. But he can’t stop thinking about what good he can do for her with that money. It can do so much for her. Nick can’t let go of the bills. The practiced calm of the Con Artist is gone . . .

 

_Pick up the money. Pick it up. Spend it for you, for her. I will get caught. I won’t get caught. This is for you, this is for her. Do this for her. Help her like she has helped you. She deserves the best you can give her. She deserves the world and you can give her a small piece of it. You can finally help her, be the mammal she deserves. It won’t kill her. It will kill me. It can help us. It can definitely end_ us _._

 

He needs to choose. But the ability and the conviction to choose have vanished because someone has grabbed him by the arm.

 

Nick feels bile tickle the back of his throat, feels his head go dangerously light. There is pressure on his forearm. Someone lightly gripping him. He never heard them come in, didn’t hear them walking up behind him, and didn’t fucking hear them walk right up next to him. It is not a matter of having lost track of time that stops his breathing. It is a realization that he is horribly out of practice. And that he has just been caught.

 

Nick looks over at the offending paw on his arm, follows it down, and looks right into Judy’s face.

 

Nick can form one thought on his immediate state: he is going to faint or vomit. His legs feel dangerously unsteady. He has the banknotes clutched high to his chest, to the space at the bottom of his neck where he could slip them underneath his vest. He knows what it looks like. Because, in more than a half-truth, that’s exactly what this looks like.

 

Judy’s face is unmoving, a still portrait lacking any emotion.

 

Nick knows – he just _knows_ – that she knows. And he knows what is about to happen. All he can do is wait for it.

 

He waits for four and a half seconds, staring back at her and not moving a muscle. Then it happens. Judy gives him the smallest nod, so quick and subtle he’s immediately unsure if it was really there, and then pulls his arm (and the money) down towards the crate.

 

“Wow! Looks like we picked the wrong profession, huh Slick?” she jokes. She is talking with a joviality that is both typical of her and common in officers after a successful bust. Judy takes the stacks from his paw and tosses them back into the crate. “What do you think’s the total haul?”

 

Nick doesn’t respond, isn’t aware that his mouth is starting to drift open.

 

“Nick,” Judy states, this time without any casual inflection, “how much money do you think is in this crate?”

 

“A million and change in this crate,” he answers automatically. “Either more cash or drugs in the others.” His lips feel numb, like he has been kissing ice.

 

Judy purses her lips and nods, like she is agreeing with his estimate. “Let’s go find the evidence guys so they can start tagging and bagging. Can’t leave all this lying around.” With a stern confidence that only she can summon, Judy loops her arm around Nick’s and firmly guides them

 

_–walks him–_

out of the room and into the street.

 

They don’t speak to each other for the rest of the day.

 

~

 

They are back home. Judy is by the sink, beer in paw, looking out the window. Since they got back in, she has been looking at anything other than him if she can help it. Nick is over in the living room. His opened beers sweats on the table, untouched.

 

“We need to talk,” Nick says.

 

Several painful seconds go by and Judy doesn’t say anything back. Doesn’t move. Nick wonders if he had just muttered and she hadn’t heard him. But then he remembers. She is a rabbit. She’s got those ears. Of course she heard him.

 

He turns up his volume anyway. “Judy. We _need_ to talk.”

 

Judy turns to him, face unreadable. That’s what’s killing him. He can’t tell if she is disgusted, infuriated, disappointed. She is just stoic, which means the former three are definitely bubbling under the surface.

 

“Yes. We do need to talk,” she says.

 

She walks over and sits opposite of him. All they are missing is four concrete walls, flickering fluorescents, and the metal table with welded-on ringlets for handcuffs. Even like the detective she is, Judy doesn’t say a word. She is waiting for him. Letting him work up his anxiety to the point where its weight will break the ice.

 

Which is exactly what happens. Nick cracks. The purposeful silence from her makes him resort to something he couldn’t be less proud of, most of all in the moment of grace Judy has given him. It’s this pressure that makes him start off their talk in the worst way possible.

 

“I know what it looked like, but it wasn’t. You’ve got to understand that I – ”

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

Nick feels his stomach twist hard enough he almost doubles over. Now he sees the anger. Worse, now he can hear the disappointment in her voice. She has stood up, is standing in front of him.

 

“What did you promise me?” she asks.

 

Vague to anyone else. Not vague to Nick. Crystal clear.

 

_Of course I remember. Saturday night, 10:15PM, to Sunday morning, 4:41AM. January 8 th to the 9th. I remember. _

 

Nick is able to nod that yes, he does remember his promise.

 

Judy looks like she is on the verge of loosing the collected and stern visage, that she is a breath away from breaking into screaming hysterics. Her finger is pointing at him.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ lie to me, Nicholas Wilde. You promised me you wouldn’t, not ever to me, and I will hold you to that.”

 

With a deep breath, Nick steadies himself, mentally rehearsing what needs to be said and how it needs to be said. He is scared – terrified – of how this is going to go down, but he will not lie to her. He at least owes her that.

 

“You’re right, you are right. That was knee-jerk on my part.” He doesn’t apologize further, because that is not what they are here for. Judy keeps staring at him as she sits back down.

 

“Were you going to steal that money?”

 

“I was considering it, yes.”

 

“Considering _?”_

“At first I was just going to take it. I saw it and I was back to year twenty-five, looking at an easy score and knowing that I’d be a fool to not take it. I had the whole take worked out well before you came along. So initially, yeah I was going to take it. But then ‘going to’ became ‘considering’ and – ”

 

“Walk me through it,” she interrupts him.

 

“You want me to go through each thought?”

 

“Each and every one,” Judy spells out, “from the moment you saw the money to the moment you came back down to Earth.” I.e., the moment I grabbed your dumb ass and brought you back to your senses.

 

So Nick does. He stutters and uses too many filler words (ahhh, uhmm, well, yeahh, etc.) in describing his thoughts on getting the money away from the crime scene and to the bank to listing off all of his more hedonistic ideas of what he’d do with his new funds. He is able to mostly hold her stare, but has to look down when retelling the details about his ideas of gifting her a new dress and jewelry for their Michelin restaurant date. He keeps an even and desperate gaze to the floor at admitting his hopes to charm her right out of that dress and everything beneath it.

 

He hears her snort in either hollow amusement or disgusted pity at that detail.

 

Nick pauses to collect his breath and try to steady his nerves. So far so good. Well, she still hasn’t packed up and walked out of that door and out of his life. But that’s a start.

 

“You have someone lined up to launder it?” she asks.

 

Nick taps his skull, admits, “Names, numbers, and places.”

 

“Finnick in that list?”

 

In a perverse sense, it makes him proud that she correctly and immediately gauged one of his top five picks. “Yup.”

 

“So that’s it?” she asks. “Just wanted some spending money?”

 

Nick tries to not sound so desperate in his response, tries to not sound too eager to convince her that it wasn’t all bad intentions. “No, that wasn’t it. I started thinking of other things the money could go to.”

 

Judy’s eyebrows go up. “Oh, like gold-plated cufflinks for those Fioravanti suits?” The edge in her tone physically hurts, because yes, in some dark and not-so-good place in his mind those do sound like worthwhile additions. Nick banishes the thought.

 

“No – no . . . No, I had started thinking of other ways to spend it. My mind just kind of walked from shit I could buy myself to shit I could buy you. Then things for us, and then . . . I started thinking, after it was laundered, we – I – could start putting it in our joint account. Maybe using it as our down, first and last month’s, and safety deposits when we find a new place. It would bump our plan up by months, probably a few years even.”

 

Nick stops again, and makes the mistake of looking up at her.

 

Her eyes are wide, mouth in a tight line. He can practically see the strain starting to build in her arms.

 

He knows too late the mistake in telling her. In admitting it would be capital shared by them and jointly used by them, she is unknowingly an active accessory in using stolen drug money. And it has made her livid. Nick feels the practiced con start falling off his body, feeling horrifically exposed and vulnerable and losing control

 

_and hope_

 

by the second. This hasn’t happened to him before. He can’t do this, Nick cannot do this. He needs to salvage it, he needs to tell her everything, to hell how pathetic and covering up it sounds. He smooths over his ears, looks at the floor, trying to keep his words spaced and even so that it all doesn’t come out in one ugly blur.

 

He just needs her to know that he was thinking of her, of them, when thinking of taking the money.

 

“A-and I kept thinking. Well, if not to us because I knew for a fact that you’d figure it out and would be against taking the money, then maybe to my mom. God knows how badly I’ve fucked up her life with everything I did when I was younger. Reparations working the opposite way, right? The young paying up to the old for their sins. It wouldn’t even begin to make a dent in the debt I’ve accrued with her for all this lost time and wasted hope, but fuck it, what else can I do?”

 

It’s all pouring out. Nick has cracked open, his ugly truths are pouring out, and he can’t do anything to stop the flow. Judy does nothing either.

 

“I thought if not us or mom, then maybe . . . oh damnit, then maybe your family.” He tosses one paw up in a ‘ _whatever’_ gesture, like he knows it’s a shitty option and is throwing it out there for consideration’s sake.

 

Nick looks up and sees her, and feels his heart ice over. This is getting worse with every word. Her mouth is parted, and her eyes have gone wide. She looks taken aback. She looks dumbfounded.

 

“How do you know about that?”

 

“C’mon. You think I haven’t heard you get up in the middle of the night to take those calls?” He leaves out how hearing her take them makes him feel. His brave bunny, sounding scared, sick and worried, leaving him feeling helpless in his inability to take the fear and pain away. He and her never get any real sleep on those nights.

 

Judy doesn’t say anything back to his counter. For the first time tonight, she looks shocked and a little unsure. The anger is still there, oh yes, it hasn’t diminished at all. But there’s something less furious mixed in there now. Something almost uncertain.

 

“I’ll admit that I don’t know the full story, I didn’t snoop any further into it, I’ve just heard your end,” Nick continues. “I know it must be serious because you haven’t told me about it, you’ve never brought it up. Even though I’ve asked and you’ve repeatedly told me everything’s fine . . . ”

 

Nick catches his accusatory tone, quickly reeling it in. “Not that you have to, Judy. It’s your family and your call. You always knew when to stop pushing when it came to my dad, so I wanted to give you the same breadth. I just know that things aren’t great. I know enough that money is – ”

 

“Nick.”

 

“I saw the money and I saw solutions to our problems. I thought that maybe –“

 

“ _Nick._ ”

 

“I just want to help! I just don’t want you to be – ”

 

“Nick! Stop.”

 

Nick does, actually grinding his teeth together as he forces his mouth to stay shut.

 

Judy sits back down, running her paws over her face and back against her ears, smoothing them flat to her back. They sit facing one another, Judy staring into space and Nick praying for her to say anything that will kill this wretched and alien silence between them.

 

Finally, she does.

 

She holds up three fingers and speaks with the authoritative certainty of a judge. Maybe even that of a deity.

 

“Three questions left. You answer them honestly, to the point. And then we are done.”

 

It isn’t passing out, but it’s as close to an out-of-body experience as he has ever had. It makes the pure shock he experienced at her catching him contemplating theft look like a nervous jump scare. Nick hears those last three words

 

_WE ARE DONE_

 

and now knows that his life with her has begun to slip from his paws with the ease of sand. Soon, very soon, there won’t be anything left. She hasn’t made up her mind; she is asking for the final pieces that will make up her mind. He answers her from far away, hearing small echoes of himself in his ears. Even in his dazed (shell-shocked?) state, he answers completely and slowly. Might as well leave with his best foot forward. He is not even sure if he’s sitting or standing. Not that such a state matters now.

 

First Question: “If I didn’t stop you, would you have stolen it?”

 

“I don’t think so. When you got to me, I was in the middle of talking myself out of it.”

 

Second Question: “Why were you talking yourself out of it?”

 

He says, “I knew I would have to tell you.”

 

And thinks, _You’d see right through any white lie or omission I’d try to pass over. I couldn’t stomach the thought of doing that to you, couldn’t stomach lying, couldn’t stomach you finding me out. Because if I took the money, that’s exactly what you’d do. You’d find me out, and that would be that. I knew, deep down, how it would go if you knew._ But Nick is does not want to risk spilling all that and having it horribly misconstrued, so those words stay locked away.

 

Final Question, but this comes after a steady pause: “What if you knew I would be okay with it? Or if you knew you could get away with it and I’d never know? Would you have gone through with it then?”

 

Nick doesn’t need to think on that scenario for a moment. He knows the answer, because that hypothetical is the condition his choice has been dependent on from the get-go. He answers, “Yes. I would have taken the money. For all that shit I said earlier, if you never knew about it, I would have taken it. It would have gone to us. To our future.”

 

_That would be the right thing to do,_ Nick thinks. _Doing what is wrong for the right reasons._

 

“It would have been for you,” he whispers. “If it could take away the fears in our future, I’d do it for you, Judy.”

Judy stares at him now. Whereas earlier she couldn’t look at him, now she can only look at him. Nick can only look back in fleeting glances.

 

She exhales like she is preparing to lift something heavy, nods her head once with an assured clarity, and gets up.

 

_And this is it. The moment the crowd has been waiting for, folks. He has fumbled the catch with seconds left and there is no recovery in sight. It is done._

 

He hears her walk into their bedroom, soon to be only his bedroom. She doesn’t shut the door. He can hear drawers opening and closing. The sounds of fabric moving. Pretty soon he’ll hear the zippers on her suitcase flying open. And when they zip shut, it’ll then be the sounds of the wheels whirring as she walks out of the bedroom, out the door, and out of his life.

 

Some things cannot change. Some things cannot be overlooked or trusted completely.

 

_You were right. You are deserving of this life. She deserves better._

 

He hears her footsteps, hears her stop moving from somewhere in front of him. Time to face the music.

 

Nick looks up to see Judy standing in the doorway to the bedroom and notices two things: she doesn’t have anything at her side, specifically a suitcase, and she is dressed in her pajamas. The gallows fear and misery is dulled by complete confusion.

 

“You comin’ to bed?”

 

It takes him twenty eight seconds – but who’s counting? – and then it registers. Bed. Going to bed. To sleep. With her. In their bed. Nick doesn’t detect the faintest ounce of innuendo, also doesn’t hear any sarcasm or disdain loaded in her question.

 

Nick just sits, dumbstruck and completely unsure of what to do.

 

Judy, quicker on the uptake than he is, walks over to him and takes his paw in hers. He is led without ceremony to their bed where they lie down facing each other, side by side.

 

Nick is sure that it’s been another half an hour later when he finds his voice and asks, “You’re not leaving me?”

 

He sees the hurt immediate and present in her eyes. Judy slowly shakes her head. “No, I’m not.”

 

“Might be a good idea,” he recommends. “They say cheating’s the ultimate way to kill trust in a relationship, but admitting to stealing drug money from an active crime scene has to rank in the top ten somewhere.”

 

“Nick?” She strokes his face, her paw small against the side of his muzzle. “January 9th. Before dawn.”

 

A statement framed with the question, asking him to recite the obvious answer. Unfortunately, he can’t. His lips are unsteady, and his eyes are burning, trying to keep tears hidden away. He knows that if he answers, he’ll break down. Again, he just nods.

 

She answers for them both. “We had our ‘tell-all’ that entire night. I put my badge on the table, and you admitted to me everything you’ve been a part of. Every illegal deal you’ve done and law you’ve broken. We promised honesty with each other. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said I wanted to stay with you. This does not change that. I still love you, not one ounce less.”

 

Nick feels the wetness dampening the fur on his face, can feel it blotching over more and more of his cheeks. “I was going to steal drug money, Judy. I had ways to launder it all worked out and – ”

 

“And you didn’t steal the money. You don’t have anything to launder now,” she whispers. “You thought of what it would do to us, and that was enough to make you stop and think.”

 

It had been enough to stop twenty-plus years of a survivalist mindset this unpitying city had mercilessly enforced upon him.

 

“We are fine, Nick. You and I are fine. My family,” she pauses for a slow exhale, “my family is fine. They will be fine without it. And I know your mom is doing okay. She would not want that money. I don’t think any of them would want that money.”

 

The tears are now falling faster than his fur can absorb, sprinting down his fur and off his muzzle. Nick is gasping. “Stupid. So fucking stupid. I would’ve lost my job, gone to prison. I would’ve cost you your dream. I would’ve ruined everything.”

 

He feels her crawl into him, feels her tiny frame completely overcome and overpower his. She holds him, assured and warm, and he holds her back.

 

“You’re really not leaving me?”

 

“I didn’t leave you then. Not leaving you now.”

 

Even in the dark of their bedroom, she sees the question in his eyes, can even feel it in the air around them. _Why?_

 

“Because like then, it’s the right thing to do when you love someone,” she tells him. “You love them for all of their parts. You love them when they make mistakes, and you love them when they own up to them.”

 

“How can you say that? I almost cost us our jobs, our future.”

 

“You _almost_ chanced it because you thought it would help us, our families,” Judy reminds him.

 

“Not at first.”

 

“No, not at first. But then you did. And that’s what stopped you. You saw a risk that might’ve helped us, you thought about how that risk could have helped us, and remembered that sometimes the risk isn’t worth it. I know you meant it when you said the money would have been for us, for our future. You need to know that I believed you when you told me.”

 

_You don’t deserve this_ , he thinks.

 

“That’s one reason of so many for loving you, Nick Wilde.”

 

_You can’t possibly deserve this,_ he thinks.

 

Judy can see this exact thought dancing in the shimmering pools of his eyes. “You are so loved,” she whispers to him. She curls into him as he cries in the dark, feeling the tidal wave of relief wash over his world of guilt and fear.

 

_You are not deserving of this right now, at this moment,_ he thinks. _But you sure as hell are going to make yourself deserving of her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Drummer for proofing this over! And thank you, reader, for taking the time to read this. I think the situation here is quite the predicament, with quite the choice to decide on. Easy to say one answer, but truthfully very difficult to seriously weigh the options. Hopefully i covered the dilemma Nick faces in this chapter enough to give you thought. And that hopefully the read was enjoyable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, i hoped you enjoyed your time, and please don't be shy about telling me what you thought!


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